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THE 
INTERPRETERS  SERIES 


jugo-.slav 
Stories 


EDITED  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 
PAVLE  POPOVIC 


Q 


B 


W\^ 


THE  INTERPRETERS'  SERIES 


JUGOSLAV  STORIES 


THE  INTERPRETERS'  SERIES 


CZECHOSLOVAK  STORIES 

Edited  by  Sarka  B.  Hrbkova 


MODERN  GREEK  STORIES 
Edited  by  Demetea  Vaka 


JUGOSLAV  STORIES 

Edited  by  Pavle  Popovic 


THE   INTERPRETERS'   SERIES 


JUGOSLAV 
STORIES 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    ORIGINAL 
AND    EDITED    WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION    BT 

PAVLE  POPOVIC 

Profetsor  at  the  University  of  Belgrade 


NEW  YORK 
DUFFIELD  AND  COMPANY 

1921 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
DUFFIELD  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  fn  the  United  States  of  America 


SBtF 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction 3 

By  Pavle  Popovic 

The  First  Matins  With  my  Father      ....       19 
By  Lazar  Lazarovich 

Kan  josh  Maeedonovich 51 

By  Stjepan  Mitrov  Ljubisa 

Vidosava  Brankovich 79 

By  Zmaj-Jovan  Jovanovich 

The  First  Furrow 109 

By  Milovan  Glisich 

By  the  Well 123 

By  Lazab  Lazarovich 

The  Kum's  Curse 151 

By  Janko  Veselinovich 

Povareta .     187 

By  Simo  Matavulya 

Hodja  Saleek 205 

Svetozar  Corovich 

Eternity 227 

By  Janko  Veselinovich 

T 


JUGOSLAV  STORIES 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  SERBIAN  LETTERS 

C  as  ts  in  lots. 

J  as  y  in  yet. 

Lj  as  1  in  million  (Italian  g\  in  egli). 

Z  as  s  in  pleasure  (French  j  in  jour). 


INTRODUCTION 

When  I  was  very  kindly  asked  to  prepare  a  short 
Anthology  of  modern  Serbian  fiction  I  felt  very  much 
at  a  loss.  It  was  in  the  month  of  May  1919  and  I 
was  in  Paris  attending  the  Peace  Conference  and  at 
the  very  height  of  my  work  in  the  Press  Division  of 
the  Serbian  Delegation. 

How  was  it  possible  to  prepare  an  Anthology  at  a 
time  so  unfavorable  for  literary  work?  The  greatest 
difficulty  of  all  was  to  find  the  necessary  books.  I 
had  none  with  me  and  my  countrymen  who  had  come 
to  the  Conference  and  who  had  taken  the  greatest 
pains  to  have  on  hand  statistical  reports  and  maps 
had  never  thought  of  bringing  any  woiks  of  pure  lit- 
erature. There  were  none  in  the  libraries  of  Paris 
and  they  would  have  to  be  sent  from  Belgrade.  But 
even  this  was  not  altogether  practical  for  almost  all 
the  Public  Libraries  in  Serbia,  as  well  as  most  of  the 
private  ones,  were  destroyed  and  pillaged  by  the  enemy 
during  the  war  and  many  Serbian  books  which  ordi- 
narily could  have  been  very  easily  obtained  had  for 
that  reason  become  extremely  rare.  Besides  where 
could  translators  be  found,  for  there  are  very  few 
English  speaking  people  who  understand  and  read 
Serbian.     My  task  was  clearly  a  difficult  one  and  yet 

3 


i  JTGO-SLAV  ST  OKIES 

I  was  asked  to  work  rapidly  so  that  the  book  might 
be  published  in  a  few  months — and  it  had  to  be  done. 

Under  these  conditions  I  have  not  been  able  to  make 
qnite  the  same  selection  of  stories  as  I  should  have 
done  before  the  war.  "When  an  anthology  of  Serbian 
stories  is  brought  before  the  American  public  for  the 
first  time  it  should  represent  all  of  the  best  things  that 
Serbian  literature  has  produced  in  that  kind  of  work. 
Unfortunately  I  did  not  succeed  in  securing  the  works 
of  all  the  Serbian  writers  of  fiction  especially  those  of 
some  of  the  younger  men  whose  work  I  particulariy 
regret  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit  since  much  of 
it  shows  great  freshness,  originality  and  vigor. 

However,  the  authors  who  appear  in  this  anthology 
are  all  excellent  and  the  stories  we  have  gathered  to- 
gether are  the  finest  that  a  number  of  our  best  authors 
have  produced- 

•'The  First  S/Iatios  With  My  Father"  is  perhaps 
the  greatest  story  in  our  collection.  Lazar  Lazaro- 
vich  (1S51-1S90)  still  stands  first  among  Serbian  story 
tellers,  though  there  have  been  many  men  of  talent 
since  his  day.  He  is  great  in  every  way  and  although 
he  only  wrote  a  dozen  short  stories  each  one  is  a  little 
masterpiece.  Each  is  a  true  picture  of  life,  a  vigorous 
piece  of  characterization,  a  model  of  construction  and 
written  moreover  in  a  most  correct  and  expressive 
literary  style. 

Lazarovieh  was  bom  an  artist.     He  had  the  artistic 


IXTRODrCTIOX  5 

instinct,  tlie  sense  of  proportion  and  of  harmony  in  a 
very  high  degree  and  he  added  to  these  gifts  the  serious 
stndy  of  life,,  manners  and  character.  He  knew 
thoronghly  the  life  of  the  Serbian  peasant  and  of 
the  small  towns  for  he  was  bom  in  the  conntry  and 
became  a  district  medical  officer,  which  brought  him 
into  close  contact  with  the  peasants  for  many  years. 
It  is  really  a  very  great  loss  that  he  should  have  died 
while  still  so  young  a  man  and  that  he  did  not  have 
more  leisure  to  devote  to  literary  work. 

In  the  story  which  we  are  diseu&dng  it  is  worth 
noticing  with  what  skill  in  climax,  care  in  detail  and 
yet  with  what  simplicity  in  tone  and  handling  the 
story  of  a  gambler  is  told.  There  are  no  detailed 
analyses,  no  minute  descriptions  and  no  long  drawn 
out  and  tiresome  bits  of  narrative.  The  life  of  a 
gambler  is  not  displayed  in  the  full  glare  of  midday. 
You  do  not  know  what  the  hero  himself  thinks  or  feels 
at  each  stage  of  the  story,  nor  do  you  see  the  gambling 
companions  who  surround  him.  The  whole  story  is 
seen  from  afar,  from  one  comer  of  the  background 
and  in  a  very  personal  light.  The  life  of  the  gam- 
bler is  told  by  one  who  is  not  a  gambler  himself,  by 
a  child — and  there  are  many  childlike  qualities  in  his 
narrative.  We  rather  receive  the  impression  that 
a  drama  is  being  enacted  than  watch  the  drama  and  its 
incidents  themselves.  This  results  in  simplifying  the 
plot  into  a  short  and  vivid  narrative  and  makes  a 


6  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

short  story  which  contains  an  entire  novel.  Even  the 
great  scene  itself,  the  fatal  night  of  the  gambling,  is 
not  given  as  a  whole.  You  only  hear  a  few  words  at 
the  end  of  it.  You  only  see  what  you  can  make  out 
through  the  keyhole  of  the  door  in  a  few  seconds  filled 
with  the  fear  of  being  caught.  Nevertheless  it  is  as 
clear  and  as  broadly  drawn  as  if  we  had  been  present 
at  every  incident  at  the  gaming  table  during  the  whole 
night.  The  final  scene  is  intensely  dramatic  and  en- 
tirely unexpected.  When  you  read  the  first  sentence 
of  the  story  which  is  so  simple  and  promises  so  little, 
you  would  never  imagine  that  in  a  few  pages  it  could 
develop  such  dramatic  effects. 

The  other  story  by  Lazarovich  ' '  At  The  Well "  is  as 
good  as  the  one  we  have  just  discussed.  It  is  hard  to 
tell  which  of  the  two  is  the  better.  The  last  is  the 
equal  of  the  first  in  every  way  and  probably  surpasses 
it  in  elegance  of  form.  It  is  dramatic  and  touching 
in  the  highest  degree  and  perfect  in  style,  colour,  care 
for  detail  and  composition. 

It  may  perhaps  be  necessary  to  explain  the  sur- 
roundings in  which  this  story  takes  place.  There  is 
in  Serbia  a  veiy  ancient  institution  called  a  "La- 
druga,"  an  association  made  up  of  many  families  of 
the  same  origin.  The  head  of  the  family  lives  there 
with  his  sons  and  his  daughters,  their  wives  and  hus- 
bands and  children.  These  children  when  they  reach 
the  proper  age  also  marry  and  their  children  stay  iii 


INTRODUCTION  7 

the  family  even  when  their  turn  comes  to  be  married. 
This  entire  world  is  like  one  family  and  no  member  of 
it  separates  himself  from  it  to  found  his  own  house- 
hold. The  oldest  member  is  the  head  and  also  the 
ruler  and  if  he  is  very  old  he  is  helped  by  one  or  two 
of  those  nearest  his  own  age.  He  is  greatly  honoured 
and  respected  by  all  the  members  of  the  Association. 
A  complete  hierarchy  exists  among  them  and  every  one 
according  to  his  age  and  ability  exercises  his  rights 
and  does  his  share  in  the  Association.  The  youngest 
ones  have  a  limited  sphere  of  rights  and  duties  and 
are  directly  under  those  who  are  older  than  themselves 
and  only  very  rarely  and  exceptionally  do  they  have 
anything  to  do  personally  with  the  head  of  the  As- 
Bociation. 

The  second  story  in  the  book,  "Kanjosh 
Macedonovich,"  is  by  Stjepan  Mitrov  Ljubisa  (1821- 
1878)  a  writer  without  very  much  training  but  with 
a  great  deal  of  talent.  It  is  simple  and  charming. 
It  is  really  a  kind  of  fairy  story,  the  tale  of  a  merchant 
who  gets  the  better  of  a  brigand,  of  a  dwarf  who  con- 
quers a  giant,  of  a  Serbian  David  who  overcomes  an 
Italian  Goliath.  That  is  what  the  slory  of  Kan  josh 
really  is  and  though  it  borders  doubtless  on  the  myth, 
the  legend  and  the  fairy  tale,  yet  this  fantastic  story 
is  transformed  into  a  vivid  picture  of  reality  through 
the  natural,  straightforward  narrative  of  the  author. 
Poor  Kan  josh,  honest  and  unsophisticated,  is  the  true 


8  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

son  of  a  free  mountain  country,  upright  and  simple, 
with  a  great  deal  of  common  sense  and  a  very  clear 
and  vigorous  sense  of  justice.  He  is  thrown  suddenly 
into  the  midst  of  a  decadent  and  vicious  society, 
among  spies  and  cowards  who  pretend  to  be  brave  to 
gain  prestige,  and  scoundrels  who,  according  to  cir- 
cumstances, either  assume  airs  of  uprightness  and 
dignity  or  prostrate  themselves  before  you  as  humble 
suppliants  and  flatterers.  This  gives  the  material  for 
these  scenes  of  comedy  which  are  drawn  with  so  much 
spirit  and  talent.  The  straightforward  narrative  with 
its  plot  of  true  comedy  is  written  in  a  simple  and 
condensed  but  supple  and  lively  style,  and  in  pictur- 
esque and  idiomatic  language. 

I  do  not  suppose  that  it  will  be  necessary  to  give 
a  long  historical  and  geographical  explanation  to  make 
the  American  public  enjoy  the  story.  I  might  merely 
say  that  the  little  Serbian  state  of  Pastrovich  is  on  the 
shore  of  the  Adriatic  just  south  of  Dalmatia  and  to 
the  east  of  the  Bocce  di  Cattaro.  After  the  break-up 
of  the  Serbian  Empire  when  the  Adriatic  coast  was 
conquered  by  the  Venetian  Eepublic,  this  little  Ser- 
bian state,  though  under  the  suzerainty  or  protection 
of  that  republic,  still  enjoyed  a  certain  autonomy  and 
some  rights  of  which  the  other  Venetian  subjects  on 
the  Dalmatian  coast  were  deprived.  Still  the  Re- 
public of  St.  ]\Iark  put  all  kinds  of  difficulties  in  the 
path  of  its  pretended  protege  and  obviously  tried  to 


INTRODUCTION  9 

exploit  it  and  to  take  away  its  liberties.  Our  story, 
which  is  indeed  foiiuded  on  an  historical  narrative  of 
the  XV  Century,  gives  a  faithful  picture  of  the  rela- 
tions between  the  Venetian  Republic  and  the  Serbian 
people  of  the  period.  Perhaps  the  American  reader 
may  also  see  a  symbol  of  what  may  be  the  relations 
between  Italians  and  Serbs  in  the  near  future  along 
this  same  Adriatic  shore. 

The  third  story  ''Vidosava  Brankovich"  is,  I  must 
frankly  admit,  not  quite  so  well  written.  Its  style 
has  a  touch  of  rather  banal  romanticism  and  of  bom- 
bast 'and  yet  possesses  a  certain  poetic  quality.  The 
author,  Zmaj-Jovan  Jovanovich  (1833-1904),  is  one 
of  the  best  Serbian  lyric  poets,  and  although  lyrie 
poets  'are  rarely  good  short-story  writers  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  they  put  a  certain  poetic  quality  into  every- 
thing they  write.  There  is  real  pathos  in  the  sorrow- 
ful story  of  the  family  on  which  the  curse  of  the 
people  rests.  There  is  poetry  in  the  mysterious  and 
lugubrious  refrain  which  appears  and  reappears  in  the 
story  from  time  to  time.  It  has  also  one  unforgettable 
moment — ^the  dream  of  the  mythical  young  girl  on 
the  eve  of  her  wedding.  You  can  not  thoroughly  un- 
derstand this  tragic  story  unless  you  recall  the  battle 
of  Kossova  (1389)  which  determined  the  fate  of  the 
mediaeval  Serbian  Empire  that  had  flourished  for 
many  centuries.  There  the  Turks  conquered  the  Serbs 
who  lost  their  independence.    Popular  Tradition  and 


10  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

the  national  epics  have  always  been  disposed  to  attri- 
bute that  catastix)phe  to  treason  and  to  name  as  the 
traitor  Vuk  Brankovich,  one  of  the  most  powerful 
Serbian  nobles  of  the  period.  Our  poet  has  chosen  to 
show  the  last  descendants  of  Vuk's  family,  the  blunt 
old  man  Urosh  Brankovich  and  his  young  daughter  the 
mystical  Vidosava,  as  the  principal  characters  in  the 
story.  It  is  Vuk's  crime  that  these  two,  in  spite  of 
their  innocence  and  their  virtues,  are  forced  to  expiate. 

''The  First  Furrow"  by  Milovan  Glisich  (1827- 
1908)  is  a  very  short  and  simple  story.  Glisich  is 
really  a  humorist  and  his  stories  and  plays  have  a 
great  deal  of  life  and  brilliant  local  colour  but  occa- 
sionally he  liked  to  write  serious  stories  and  this  tale  is 
one  of  them.  It  is  only  a  sketch,  a  mere  outline,  noth- 
ing at  all  really,  yet  it  is  truly  touching.  At  the  period 
that  we  are  passing  through  to-day  this  story  becomes 
symbolic.  There  are  many  unhappy  women  in  Serbia 
widowed  by  the  war  and  left  with  little  children  like 
the  heroine  of  our  story.  In  a  few  years  they  too 
will  see  their  children  grow  up  and  reach  the  age  when 
they  can  be  useful  and  plough  their  first  furrow  in 
that  earth  which,  thereafter,  they  will  cultivate  by 
their  own  strength.  Our  story,  even  though  it  was 
written  thirty  years  ago,  is  symbolic  of  the  next  Ser- 
bian generation  which  will  certainly  rebuild  their  de- 
vastated fatherland. 

*'The  Curse"  is  the  best  story  of  Janko  Veselino- 


INTRODUCTION  11 

vich  (1862-1905)  a  young  man  of  great  talent,  orig- 
inality and  vigour  who  heedlessly  dissipated  his 
strength  and  his  youth  and  died  prematurely.  He  was 
at  first  merely  a  village  schoolmaster  but  later  held  a 
small  government  post  at  Belgrade. 

This  story  shows  us  a  thoroughly  patriarchal  world 
and  one  which  has  long  ago  ceased  to  exist  with  its 
tribunal  which  held  its  sessions  under  an  old  oak,  its 
honest  but  despotic  authorities  and  unquestioned  sub- 
mission to  those  in  the  authority,  its  profound  respect 
for  ancient  customs  and  manners  and  a  superstitious 
belief  in  the  efficacy  of  the  curse.  Above  all,  respect 
for  the  ' '  Kum ' '  is  what  this  world  most  vigorously  ob- 
served. The  Kum  is  the  witness  or  groomsman  and 
later  on  the  Grodfather  of  the  children  who  result  from 
the  marriage  at  which  he  has  assisted.  He  was  always 
considered  as  a  member  of  the  family  and  was  held  in 
particular  respect  by  all  its  members.  All  homage 
to  him !  If  it  was  he  who  launched  a  curse  upon  you. 
Beware!  You  may  be  sure  that  every  evil  will  fall 
upon  your  head.  Even  to-day  the  Kum  enjoys  much 
prestige  in  the  family  but  in  those  older  times  his 
authority  was  really  very  great. 

Veselinovich  is  not,  like  Lazarovich,  a  consummate 
artist  and  he  lacks  his  qualities  of  style  but  still  he 
touches  a  very  high  level  in  "The  Curse."  The  little 
disagreement  between  two  estimable  people  develops 
logically  and  clearly  and  the  situation  becomes  big 


12  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

with  dramatic  and  pathetic  consequences  of  the  high- 
est import.  If  he  is  not  a  great  artist  Veselinovich 
nevertheless  has  real  power. 

The  two  stories  which  follow;  "Povereta"  and 
"Hodja  Saleek,"  are  among  the  best  written  by  Simo 
Matavulya  (1852-1908)  and  Svetozar  Corovich  (1875- 
1918).  The  first  story  is  laid  in  Dalmatia  where 
Matavulya  was  born  and  the  second  in  Herzegovina 
the  fatherland  of  Corovich.  Dalmatia  and  Herze- 
govina are  two  ancient  Serbian  states  which  as  a  result 
of  the  late  war  have  been  reunited  to  the  mother 
country.  Dalmatia  is  the  Adriatic  coast,  in  the  south- 
erly part  of  which  lies  Pastrovich  described  in  "Kan- 
josh  Macedonovich."  The  northern  part,  to  which  the 
Dalmatian  archipelago  belongs,  is  the  scene  of  the 
story  by  Matavulya.  Herzegovina  is  the  back  country 
of  the  coast  south  of  Bosnia.  Both  of  those  countries 
are  west  of  Serbia  proper.  The  inhabitants  are  how- 
ever as  Serbian  as  the  Serbs  of  Serbia.  Among  them 
are  a  few  Mohammedans  and  one  of  these  is  shown 
in  Hodja  Saleek,  the  principal  character  in  Corovich 's 
story. 

These  two  stories  of  Matavulya  and  Corovich,  have 
a  great  deal  of  local  colour.  The  first  shows  us  the 
impoverished,  simple  and  naive  world  of  the  deep 
sea  fisherman,  very  catholic  and  very  bigoted  in  its 
faith.  The  world  of  the  second  story  is  just  as  simple, 
naive  and  archaic  bu  tit  is  a  Mohammedan  world. 


INTRODUCTION  13 

The  stories  are  both  realistic  in  their  treatment  and 
remarkable  for  their  picturesqueness  and  their  truth 
to  life.  They  are  rather  impressions  than  stories  and 
hold  our  interest  more  by  their  picture  of  the  life  they 
describe  than  by  any  interest  in  the  plot.  The  first 
has  a  certain  amount  of  dramatic  quality,  the  second 
is  remarkable  for  its  humour  and  wit. 

We  have  concluded  our  collection  with  another  story 
by  Veselinovich, — ''Eternity,"  not  because  this  au- 
thor and  Lazarovich  are  the  only  ones  who  deserve  to 
be  represented  by  two  examples  of  their  work  but  be- 
cause we  wished  to  include  one  story  which  was 
fundamentally  a  folk  story  and  one  which,  told  here 
by  a  Serbian  man  of  letters,  still  lives  in  the  popular 
tradition  of  our  country.  There  is  a  legend  that  tells 
of  an  emperor  who  was  very  virtuous  and  was  allowed 
to  ascend  into  Heaven  for  a  moment.  He  did  not  per- 
ceive that  he  stayed  more  than  three  hundred  years, 
but  when  he  came  back  to  his  country  he  was  aston- 
ished to  find  everything  changed  and  entirely  new  peo- 
ple there,  who  did  not  know  him.  A  Serbian  book  of 
the  sixteenth  century  tells  how  a  monk,  walking  in  Ihe 
garden  of  his  convent,  was  struck  by  the  marvellous 
song  of  a  little  bird  he  had  never  before  seen.  When 
the  song  was  over  he  wanted  to  go  back  into  the  con- 
vent but  found  a  wall  where  had  been  the  door  by 
which  he  had  gone  out.  When  finally  he  got  back  to  the 
convent  he  found  there  a  generation  of  monks  whom  he 


14  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

did  not  know  and  discovered  that  three  hundred  and 
forty  years  had  passed  in  his  absence.  In  an  old  Ser- 
bian manuscript  of  the  middle  ages  it  is  related  that  the 
Prophet  Jeremiah  charged  Abimelech  to  go  out  of 
Jerusalem  to  pick  some  figs  in  the  country  nearby. 
He  did  so,  but  before  getting  back  he  felt  tired  and, 
lying  down  to  rest  under  a  tree,  fell  asleep.  When 
he  awoke  he  hurried  back  with  his  basket  of  figs  but 
was  greatly  astonished  to  find  the  city  of  Jerusalem 
ruined,  sacked  and  without  inhabitants.  There  was 
no  trace  of  Jeremiah  of  whom  he  vainly  sought  tidings. 
At  last  it  was  explained  to  him  that  he  had  slept  under 
his  tree  for  four  hundred  and  twenty-six  years  and 
that  during  that  time  the  Emperor  of  Babylon  had 
stormed  and  sacked  the  city  and  made  prisoners  of 
all  the  inhabitants.  There  are  indeed  many  other 
stories  of  the  same  sort.  This  particular  legend  is 
widely  known  in  our  country,  and  appears  in  many 
popular  ballads  and  many  old  manuscripts.  The 
American  reader  will  quickly  realize  that  this  is  at 
bottom  the  same  legend  as  that  of  Rip  Van  Winkle. 

But  our  story  as  it  is  told  by  Veselinovich  has  com- 
bined with  it  another  idea  foreign  to  the  original 
legend  and  which  has  no  intrinsic  connection  with 
it.  It  is  the  story  of  a  crime,  a  mysterious  murder, 
which  makes  the  version  of  Veselinovich  less  clear  and 
logical  than  the  other  Serbian  versions  of  the  story. 

These  are  the  Serbian  stories  which  we  introduce 


INTRODUCTION  15 

to  the  American  public  for  the  first  time.  I  trust  that 
they  may  have  a  warm  welcome.  They  deserve  it 
not  only  because  they  come  from  a  friendly  country 
which  has  shown  such  heroism  during  the  great  war 
but  also  because  they  have  such  real  literary  value. 
If  they  should  be  gladly  welcomed  by  American  read- 
ers this  will  be  largely  due  to  the  translators,  who  have 
done  their  best  to  give  a  true  rendering  of  these 
stories,  which  are  frequently  very  difficult  to  interpret, 
and  to  show  clearly  the  spirit  which  inspires  them. 
The  principal  merit  however  is  due  to  the  American 
publisher  who  first  had  the  idea  of  bringing  out  this 
book  and  who  has  made  a  great  effort  to  realize  it. 

PAVLE  POPOVIC 
Belgrade, 
Feb.  1920. 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER 
By  Lazae  Lazarovich 


17 


Lazar  Lazarovich  was  bom  in  1851  at  Labach, 
•1  Serbia),  a  town  which  was  completely  destroyed 
in  1914  during  the  great  war.  He  completed  his  law 
course  at  Belgrade  and  then  his  medical  course  at 
Berlin  and  was  a  practicing  physician  throughout 
his  life,  first  in  the  country  and  then  in  Belgrade. 
He  was  elected  a  corresponding  member  of  the  Serb- 
ian Royal  Academy. 

Lazarovich  was  the  author  of  a  dozen  short  stories 
which  aroused  ihe  most  immense  enthusiasm  among 
the  public  and  founded  the  realistic  school  of  Serbian 
fiction.     He  died  in  1890. 


18 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER 
By  Lazar  Lazarovich 

I  was  only  nine  years  old  at  the  time.  I  don't  re- 
member the  exact  details  of  what  happened,  so  I  can 
only  tell  you  what  I  recall.  My  sister  who  is  older 
than  I  am  remembers  too,  but  my  younger  brother, 
on  the  contrary,  knows  nothing  about  it.  I  was  never 
fool  enough  to  tell  him. 

When  I  was  grown  up,  I  questioned  my  mother, 
who  told  me  many  things  about  the  affair.  My 
father,  naturally,  never  breathed  a  word. 

He,  my  father,  was  of  course  always  dressed  as  a 
Turk.  I  can  still  see  him  putting  on  his  clothes.  He 
wore  a  short  under  vest  of  red  velvet  edged  with  sev- 
eral rows  of  gold  braid,  and  over  that  a  green  cloth 
jacket.  Behind  his  belt,  which  was  stamped  in  gold, 
he  stuck  a  thin  walking  stick  with  an.  ivory  top  and 
a  dagger  with  silver  scabbard  and  ivory  handle.  A 
fringed  sash,  tied  on  the  left  side,  covered  the  belt. 
His  trousers  were  ornamented  with  silk  braid  and  em- 
broidery, huge  flaps  hung  half  way  down  his  legs, 
and  he  wore  white  stockings  and  flat  shoes.  A  Tuni- 
sian fez,  worn  a  little  over  the  left  ear,  served  as  head- 
gear.    He  carried  in  his  hand  an  ebony  pipe  with  an 

19 


20  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

amber  mouthpiece,  and  stuck  in  his  sash  on  the  right 
side  was  a  tobacco  pouch  embroidered  in  gold  and 
false  pearls.     He  was  a  real  dandy. 

His  disposition  was  peculiar,  and  though  it  is  true 
that  he  was  my  father,  since  I  have  started  to  tell 
the  story,  there  is  no  use  in  lying  about  it.  He  was 
extremely  severe,  he  always  commanded,  and  if  his 
orders,  given  once  for  all,  were  not  immediately  exe- 
cuted, there  was  nothing  left  for  you  to  do  but  to 
escape  as  fast  as  possible.  Passionate  and  forcible, 
he  required  that  everj^thing  should  be  done  in  his  way ; 
in  short,  no  one  dared  to  have  the  audacity  to  con- 
tradict him.  When  he  was  really  angry,  he  would 
blaspheme  the  Allelulia.  He  never  gave  but  one 
blow,  but  my  dear  fellow,  you  were  on  the  ground 
as  soon  as  you  were  hit!  He  was  easily  offended; 
when  he  scowled,  bit  his  lower  lip,  and  twisted  his 
moustache,  turning  up  the  ends,  his  eyebrows  joined 
across  his  forehead,  and  his  black  eyes  gleamed.  Woe, 
if  at  that  moment  someone  came  to  tell  him  that  I 
did  not  know  my  lesson.  I  don't  know  why  I  was  so 
afraid.  He  might  have  boxed  my  ears  once.  But 
his  eyes  made  me  shiver,  and  when  he  turned  them 
on  you  like  a  bullet  from  a  sling,  you  would  begin 
to  tremble  like  an  apple  twig,  without  rhyme  or  rea- 
son. 

He  never  laughed,  at  least  never  like  other  people. 
I  remember  one  day,  when  he  was  holding  my  little 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER    21 

brother  on  his  knee.  He  had  given  the  child  his  watch 
to  play  with,  and  Djokica  insisted  on  jamming  the 
watch  into  his  mouth  and  yelling  like  one  possessed 
because  he  couldn't  open  it.  My  sister  and  I  almost 
died  of  laughing,  and  the  thing  seemed  amusing  even 
to  my  father,  for  he  several  times  partly  opened  his 
mouth  on  the  left  side  and  his  face  wrinkled  at  the 
corner  of  his  left  eye.  This  was  an  extraordinary 
event,  and  was  his  way  of  laughing  at  a  thing  which 
would  have  made  anyone  else  roar  so  that  they  could 
be  heard  at  the  Inn  of  Tetreb. 

I  remember  the  day  that  my  uncle  died,  Papa's 
brother  and  partner,  whom  he  cared  for  deeply.  My 
aunt,  my  mother,  my  cousins,  all  of  us  children  sobbed 
and  groaned,  with  tears  and  lamentations,  all,  all, 
crying  aloud.  But  Papa  never  faltered,  he  did  not 
shed  a  tear,  or  even  say  an  "Oh"  of  pain.  Only  as 
he  w^ent  out  of  the  house  his  lower  lip  trembled  nerv- 
ously and  he  shivered.  He  was  white  as  linen  and 
supported  himself  against  the  doorway,  but  he  did 
not  open  his  lips. 

Even  at  the  risk  of  his  head,  he  would  never  go 
back  on  what  he  had  said,  though  the  thing  might 
be  required  by  his  conscience.  I  remember  the  day 
that  he  dismissed  his  clerk,  Proka.  I  saw  clearly  that 
he  hated  doing  it,  and  that  he  was  sorry  for  the  man, 
but  he  did  not  give  in.  He  liked  Proka  better  than 
any  of  the  other  clerks.     I  remember  that  he  had  never 


22  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

struck  him  but  once  when,  after  drawing  some  brandy, 
Proka  had  closed  the  spigot  so  badly  that  almost  the 
value  of  a  keg  had  flowed  away.  Except  that  one 
time  he  had  never  laid  a  finger  on  him.  He  trusted 
him  in  everything,  even  sending  him  to  the  village 
to  collect  the  money  for  things  that  had  been  sold 
on  credit,  and  things  like  that.  And  why  do  you 
suppose  he  sent  Proka  away?  For  no  reason  at  all! 
Just  because  he  had  seen  him  gambling  for  pennies! 

But  wait,  you  will  soon  be  still  more  astonished ! 

It  was  near  the  feast  of  St.  George.  Proka  came 
into  the  shop  to  have  his  agreement  renewed.  Papa 
took  ninety  groschen  out  of  his  pocket  and  said,  ''Here 
is  your  money.  I  have  no  more  need  of  you.  Go  and 
find  a  place  where  you  can  gamble  for  pennies." 
Proka,  holding  his  fez  before  his  eyes,  and  shedding 
a  veritable  rain  of  tears,  began  to  plead  for  pardon. 
I  could  see  that  my  father  was  touched,  but  do  you 
think  he  yielded? 

He  only  pulled  another  ducat  out  of  his  pocket 
and  gave  it  to  Proka,  saying,  "Take  this,  and  get 
out."  Proka  left,  and  my  father  inwardly  repented 
having  dismissed,  without  cause,  the  most  useful  of 
his  clerks. 

He  never  joked,  either  with  us  his  children,  or 
with  my  mother  or  with  anyone  else.  He  had  a  cu- 
rious manner  of  treating  my  mother. 

God  forbid  that  it  should  be  said  that  he  was  like 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER    23 

some  men  who  beat  their  wives,  and  do  other  things  of 
that  kind,  but  he  was  cold  and  churlish  with  my 
mother  —  worse  than  a  stranger,  he  really  was. 
"Whereas  my  mother,  good  as  any  saint,  brooded  over 
him  with  her  eyes  as  an  ostrich  does  over  her  eggs. 
When  he  spoke  harshly,  and  her  tears  choked  her, 
she  always  hid  them,  not  only  from  us  but  from  him. 
He  never  went  out  with  her,  and  she  did  not  dare 
open  her  mouth  to  ask  him  to  take  her  anywhere. 

He  would  not  tolerate  any  suggestions  from  her 
about  the  shop  or  about  his  business. 

One  day  she  said  to  him: 

''Mitar,  why  don't  you  give  any  brandy  to 
Stanoje?  There  will  soon  be  plenty  of  the  new,  and 
where  will  you  put  it?" 

He  only  answered  this  by  shouting: 

**Are  you  hungry,  or  do  you  need  anything?  The 
money  is  in  your  hands,  if  it  gives  out  you  have  only 
to  say  so.    But  don't  meddle  with  my  affairs." 

My  mother  bowed  her  head  and  was  silent. 

He  talked  very  little  with  anyone.  His  group  of 
friends  met  at  the  cafe,  and  it  was  only  with  them 
that  he  said  a  few  words.  He  had  a  great  respect 
for  his  partner,  Ilija,  the  only  man  who  ever  spoke 
frankly  to  him,  and  of  whom  my  father  was,  in  a 
certain  way,  a  little  afraid. 

It  could  be  seen  that  he  loved  us,  his  children,  and 
my  morther,  but  he  held  us  under  very  severe  control. 


24  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

I  do  not  remember  to  have  ever  received  any  mark 
of  affection  from  him.  It  is  true  that  at  night,  he 
tucked  us  in  again  when  we  were  uncovered,  and 
he  would  not  let  us  lean  over  the  well  or  climb  the 
mulberry  trees,  but  what  did  that  mean  to  me  ?  Other 
fathers  did  as  much,  and  also  brought  their  children 
candy  and  gold  paper  and  balls  that  bounced  as  high 
as  the  poplar  trees. 

He  went  to  church  only  on  the  feast  of  St.  George, 
but  to  the  cafe  he  went  every  night.  We  had  supper, 
and  immediately  after  it  he  put  his  chibouk  under 
his  left  arm,  his  tobacco  pouch  in  his  belt,  and  behold 
he  was  gone!  In  summer  he  came  back  at  nine 
o'clock,  and  in  winter  even  earlier,  though  sometimes 
midnight  had  struck  before  he  was  at  home. 

This  troubled  my  poor  mother  and  sister,  but  I  at 
that  time  knew  nothing  of  what  such  revelry  meant. 
They  never  went  to  sleep  before  my  father's  return 
even  if  he  did  not  get  back  until  dawn.  Sitting  up 
in  their  beds  they  dared  not  even  light  a  candle.  He 
went  into  a  rage  at  once,  you  see,  if  he  found  one 
burning.  One  day  when  he  had  come  in  I  heard  him 
growl. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  that  candle  burning  at 
such  an  hour?" 

"It  is  so  that  you  can  see  to  undress,  Mitar,"  said 
my  mother. 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER    25 

"Do  you  think  that  I  don't  know  how  to  light  a 
candle,  or  that  I  am  too  drunk  to  find  one  ? ' ' 

"But  no,  Mitar,"  said  my  mother,  soothingly,  "I 
only  thought " 

"You  thought  what?  You  wanted  the  neighbours 
to  think  that  there  was  a  corpse  in  the  house ! ' ' 

A  corpse !  Do  you  imagine  for  a  moment  that  he 
meant  that  ?  He  who  cared  so  little  about  the  neigh- 
bours? He  merely  did  not  want  my  mother  to  pay 
any  attention  to  his  goings  and  comings,  and  in  his 
anger  he  did  not  know  what  to  accuse  her  of.  He 
would  have  preferred  finding  my  mother  asleep,  or  if 
she  must  lie  awake,  that  he  should  at  least  be  able  to 
go  on  a  spree  without  having  any  fuss  made  about  it. 
That  evidently  irritated  him. 

He  drank  very  little,  and  then  only  wine.  When  he 
had  to  taste  the  brandy  that  he  bought,  he  always 
spit  it  out  at  once,  making  a  grimace. 

He  cared  no  more,  and  God  knows  how  little  that 
was,  for  coffee.  You  ask  me  ' '  What  did  he  do  all  night 
in  the  cafe?" 

It  was  a  bad  thing,  that  was  what  it  was.  It  seems 
to  me  that  if  he  had  drunk  hard  it  would  have  done 
only  half  as  much  harm.    But  you  will  see. 

It  shortened  my  mother's  life  by  half.  Sometimes 
she  cried  and  choked,  but  she  never  complained  to 
anyone. 

One  day  he  came  home  very  late.     Nothing  hap- 


26  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

pened.  Again  the  next  day,  nothing.  Do  you  sup- 
pose, my  dear  fellow,  that  my  mother  did  not  know 
that  he  no  longer  had  a  watch !  At  last  the  poor  wo- 
man asked  him,  "Where  is  your  watch,  Mitar?" 

He  frowned,  and  turning  away  his  eyes,  answered. 

"I  have  sent  it  to  Belgrade  to  be  repaired." 

''But  it  went  quite  well,  Mitar." 

"I  suppose  that  I  am  neither  one-eyed  nor  an 
idiot,  and  that  it  is  probable  that  I  know  whether  a 
watch  goes  well  or  not." 

What  could  my  mother  do?  She  was  silent,  but 
later  she  said  to  my  sister  with  tears,  "This  is  very 
hard  on  me,  he  will  throw  away  everything  that  we 
possess,  and  in  my  old  agQ  I  shall  have  to  live  by  wash- 
ing other  people's  shirts." 

Another  time  it  was  barely  ten  o'clock,  when  he 
suddenly  returned  from  the  cafe. 

An  astrachan  cap  was  cocked  over  one  ear,  a  chain 
as  thick  as  your  finger  hung  across  his  breast,  and  a 
pistol  encrusted  with  gold  and  precious  stones  Avas 
stuck  in  his  belt.  He  came  in,  and  from  the  look  of 
the  few  wrinkles  around  his  left  eye,  he  seemed  to  be 
in  a  good  enough  humor. 

As  soon  as  he  was  in  the  house,  he  pulled  out  his 
watch,  as  if  to  see  what  time  it  was. 

"You  have  come  back?"  said  my  mother,  waking 
with  a  start.    "And  is  your  watch  repaired?" 

"It  is  repaired." 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  ]\IY  FATHER    27 

* '  And  what  is  that  chain  ? ' ' 

"It  is  a  chain,  like  any  other  chain,"  he  answered 
in  a  quiet  voice,  without  shouting. 

"I  know  that,"  said  my  mother,  "but  where  did 
you  get  it?" 

"I  bought  it." 

' '  And  that  cap  ?  Only  Mica  the  treasurer  has  one 
like  it." 

"I  bought  that  also." 

"He  sold  it  to  you?" 

"He  sold  it." 

"And  what    .     .     .  ?" 

But  here  my  father  looked  at  mj'-  mother  in  a  cer- 
tain manner,  and  she  was  silent. 

He  began  to  undress.  I  risked  an  eye  outside  of 
my  coverlid. 

He  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  package  as  big  as  my 
fist,  and  tossed  it  onto  the  table,  where  it  rang;  noth- 
ing less  than  ducats,  my  dear  fellow. 

"Here,  keep  this,"  he  said,  and  went  into  the 
kitchen. 

^[y  mother  took  up  the  paper  between  two  fingers — 
as  you  might  say — the  way  that  she  would  have  lifted 
dirty  linen. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  this  money?"  she  asked  my 
sister.  "It  is  accursed.  It  is  from  the  devil,  and  the 
devil  will  take  it  back  in  the  same  way  that  he  has 
given  it." 


28  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

As  you  see  there  was  neither  life  nor  happiness  in 
this  thing.  My  mother  was  unhappy,  and  we  were 
unhappy  with  her. 

My  mother  has  told  us  that  he  was  formerly  quite  a 
different  sort  of  man,  and  I  remember  myself,  as  if 
in  a  dream,  that  when  I  was  tiny  he  held  me  on  his 
knee,  and  that  he  made  me  a  whistle  out  of  a  reed, 
and  took  me  with  him  in  the  cart  out  into  the  fields. 
*'But,"  said  my  mother,  "after  he  began  to  go  with 
the  treasurer  Mica,  Krosta  who  lives  in  Makevie 
Street,  Albert  the  druggist,  and  a  few  others,  every- 
thing was  upside  down,  and  went  crookedly." 

He  grew  cross,  and  would  allow  no  questions,  al- 
ways saying,  "Mind  your  own  affairs,"  or  "Have  you 
nothing  else  to  worry  about?" 

He  was  good  at  nothing,  and  as  I  have  told  you  he 
realized  that  what  he  was  doing  was  wrong,  but  that 
which  had  taken  possession  of  him,  and  from  which 
God  preserve  us,  would  not  let  him  go. 

And  yet,  though  it  seems  absurd  to  say  it,  he  was 
really  a  fine  man.    Yes,  by  the  Lord  he  was !    But  .  .  . 

One  day  when  he  came  home  he  was  not  alone! 
My  mother  was  surprised.  He  passed  by  the  door 
with  someone  and  they  were  whispering  together. 
They  went  into  the  courtyard.  Then  we  hoard  the 
neighing  and  stamping  of  a  horse.  I  did  not  know 
what  it  meant. 

When  he  came  in  later  I  began  to  snore  and  my 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER    29 

sister  pretended  to  be  asleep.  He  said  good  evening, 
and  nothing  more.  Both  he  and  my  mother  were  si- 
lent, and  as  for  me,  I  waited.  At  last  my  mother  said 
in  a  choked  voice. 

"He  has  taken  the  black  horse!" 

*  *  He  has  taken  him. ' ' 

Again  they  were  silent,  but  my  mother  blew  her 
nose  several  times,  and  I  thought  that  she  was  crying. 

"Mitar,  for  the  love  of  God,  and  in  the  name  of  our 
children  here,  stop  this  traffic  with  the  devil.  The 
man  who  leagues  himself  with  him  is  damned  in  this 
world  and  the  next.  Look  what  happened  to  Jovan 
who  gambled  with  cards,  think  of  him !  A  man  of  his 
position,  who  has  sunk  until  to-day  he  must  pick  up 
nutgalls  for  other  people,  and  buy  skins  in  the  villages 
for  the  Jews.  For  the  love  of  God,  have  you  no  pity 
for  me.  who  when  I  grow  old  will  have  to  seek  my 
crust  of  bread  in  the  houses  of  others,  or  these  children 
of  ours  who  will  have  to  serve  strangers?"  And  she 
began  to  sob. 

"Whait's  the  matter  with  you  that  you  call  on  me  in 
the  name  of  the  children,  and  that  you  mourn  me  be- 
fore I  am  dead?  What  makes  you  howl  about  a 
wretched  nag?  It  was  not  she  that  owned  me,  but  I 
that  bought  her !  Tomorrow,  if  you  want  them,  I  will 
buy  ten." 

My  mother  only  cried  the  harder. 

"I  know,  dear  Mitar,"  she  said  patiently,  "but  your 


30  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

enemies  will  take  everything  from  you.  0  my  be- 
loved, leave  those  wretched  cards  alone.  Remember 
that  it  was  by  the  strength  of  our  backs  and  the  sweat 
of  our  blood  that  we  were  able  to  raise  this  roof  above 
our  heads.  Is  it  possible  that  some  miserable  money 
lender  will  turn  me  out  of  my  own  house? 

''But  who  is  turning  you  out?" 

"No  one  is  turning  me  out,  my  dear,  but  I  shall  be 
turned  out  if  you  go  on  as  you  are  doing.  It  is  a 
trade  accursed  of  God." 

"Haven't  I  told  you  a  hundred  times  not  to  preach 
to  me,  or  to  whimper  without  any  cause.  There  is  no 
reason  to  think  that  some  crow  has  picked  out  my 
brain  so  that  I  need  my  wife  for  a  guardian. ' ' 

She  said  no  more,  that  brave  soul.  Her  throat  con- 
tracted and  she  shed  no  more  tears.  They  ran  down 
her  breast  and  fell  on  her  heart,  and  turned  to  stone 
there. 

The  days  followed  each  other,  and  he  kept  on  in 
just  the  same  way.  Sometimes  he  brought  home  rolls 
of  money,  which  he  lost  again  as  he  had  won  it.  He 
often  came  back  without  his  rings  or  watch  or  gold 
embroidered  belt. 

Again  he  would  have  two  or  three  watches  and 
several  rings.  One  day  it  would  be  a  pair  of  high 
boots,  a  cloak,  a  saddle,  or  a  dozen  silver  spoons ;  once 
it  was  even  a  barrel  full  of  liquorice,  and  all  sorts  of 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER    31 

other  trifles.  One  evening  he  brought  a  black  horse, 
the  same  one  that  had  belonged  to  us  before. 

The  next  day  he  bought  a  new  harness;  the  false 
martingale  hung  below  the  knees  of  the  beast,  and  the 
fringes  beat  against  his  jaws.  Lly  father  harnessed 
him  to  the  carriage,  shut  the  door  of  the  shop  with  a 
chair,  and  drove  through  the  town !  The  pebbles  flew 
from  under  the  horse 's  hoofs. 

We  were  prepared  for  anything.  My  mother  cried. 
and  was  anxious.  How  could  she  be  anything  but  un- 
happy? The  shop  was  deserted.  He  sent  away  the 
clerks  one  after  another.  Everything  went  wrong  in 
that  unlucky  house,  and  the  money  ran  away  like  rain. 

His  companions,  heaven  help  us,  began  to  come  to 
us.  They  shut  themselves  up  in  the  big  room  and 
lighted  several  candles ;  ducats  rang  and  cards  slid  on 
the  table,  pipes  smoked,  and  our  servant  Stojan  never 
stopped  making  them  coffee  (the  next  morning  he 
showed  us  some  ducats  that  had  been  given  to  him  for 
fees).  My  mother  stayed  with  us  in  the  other  room. 
Her  eyes  were  red,  her  face  pale,  her  hands  dry,  and 
she  repeated  over  and  over  again,  "0  God  be  with 


us 


I" 


He  became,  at  last,  completely  detached  from  the 
household  life.  lie  never  spoke.  He  never  looked  my 
mother  in  the  face.  He  never  caressed  us,  his  children, 
and  while  not  using  really  abusive  words  to  us,  he 
was  very  far  from  ever  saying  a  kind  one.    Everybody 


32  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

kept  away  from  the  house.  He  did  give  us  whatever 
we  needed.  If  I  asked  for  money  to  buy  a  slate  pencil, 
he  gave  me  enough  to  pay  for  a  whole  package.  My 
clothes  were  the  finest  in  the  whole  school,  and  for 
food  he  bought  the  very  best  to  be  found  in  the  city. 
But  all  the  same,  something  that  I  did  not  understand 
made  me  suffer  w^henever  I  looked  at  my  mother  and 
sister.  They  had  become  older,  and  grown  pale  and 
grave  and  sad.  They  went  nowhere,  hardly  even  to 
see  a  few  neighbours  at  the  Slava,  and  very  few  wo- 
men came  to  us.  Only  the  men  came,  and  most  of 
these  were  dissipated  "good  for  nothings"  as  my 
mother  called  them.  There  was  hardly  any  work  done 
in  the  shop.  "Do  you  expect  me,"  said  my  father, 
"to  amuse  myself  by  selling  twenty  cents  worth  of 
indigo  to  a  boor  ?    That  is  good  enough  for  the  Jews. ' ' 

My  mother  was  no  longer  able  to  protest.  She  told 
me  that  he  had  said  to  her  one  day, ' '  If  you  will  listen, 
listen,  and  understand  what  I  am  telling  you ;  if  ever 
again  you  say  one  word  of  that  kind  to  me,  I  will  find 
another  house  and  move  into  it,  and  then  you  can 
preach  here  to  whoever  you  choose.  Keep  that  clearly 
in  your  mind ! ' ' 

She  was  as  silent,  poor  soul,  as  if  she  had  been 
ducked.  Her  heart  was  rent,  she  grew  whiter  day  by 
day,  and  never  stopped  imploring  God  for  help.  "My 
God, ' '  she  prayed,  ' '  do  not  abandon  me. ' ' 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  IMY  FATHER    33 

And  then  .  .  .  you  can  probably  imagine  what 
the  end  of  all  this  was ! 

One  night  they  all  came.  A  certain  Pero  Zelenbach 
was  with  them,  a  pig  merchant,  who  as  he  expressed 
it,  "worked  Pesth."  His  moustache  was  waxed  and 
his  hair,  which  was  separated  by  a  part  in  the  back, 
was  allowed  to  fall  in  curls  over  his  cheeks.  He  was 
fat  faced  and  corpulent  and  wore  a  curious  little  hat 
over  one  ear.  He  wore  a  gold  chain  on  his  waistcoat 
like  the  one  papa  had  formerly  owned,  and  on  his 
hand  was  a  ring  that  sparkled,  really,  my  dear  fellow, 
it  sparkled  so  that  you  couldn't  look  at  it.  He  wad- 
dled in  his  walk,  and  spoke  in  a  hoarse  bass  voice,  and 
you  were  confused  before  his  little  yellow-green  eyes, 
which  inspired  a  sort  of  dread,  such  as  one  feels  when 
looking  at  an*  owl. 

They  arrived,  as  I  said.  Stojan  was  in  his  place  at 
the  stove  making  their  coffee. 

Four  candles  were  lighted.  The  tobacco  smoke  rose 
as  if  from  a  chimney.  They  drank  coffee  in  silence 
like  Turks,  but  the  cards  fell,  and  you  could  hear  the 
ducats  ring. 

It  was  a  terrible  night ! 

We  were  shut  up  in  the  other  room  with  my  mother. 
She  no  longer  cried.  Neither  did  my  sister.  With 
faces  set  and  sunken  eyes,  they  gazed  straight  in  front 
of  them  in  deadly  fear.  What  happened  at  my  uncle's 
death  was  nothing  coinparcd  to  this. 


34  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

My  father  came  into  our  room  several  times.  He 
was  covered  with  sweat.  He  had  unbuttoned  his  vest 
and  unhooked  his  shirt,  so  that  one  could  see  the  coarso 
hair  on  his  chest.    He  was  scowling  like  a  Turk. 

*  *  Give  me  more, ' '  he  said  to  my  mother. 

Her  heart  shrank.  Silent,  as  if  made  of  stone,  she 
opened  the  chest  and  gave  him  handfulls  of  money 
which  he  tied  in  a  handkerchief.  He  glanced  nerv- 
ously from  side  to  side,  and  stamped  his  feet  where  he 
stood,  as  I  do  when  the  boys  are  waiting  for  me  out- 
side and  I  want  my  sister  to  cut  me  a  piece  of  bread. 
He  took  the  money,  turned  away  his  head,  and  mut- 
tered as  he  went  out,  "More  than  that." 

After  that  you  might  have  said  that  he  ran  away 
from  the  place. 

But  still  saying,  "More  than  that,  more  than  that," 
he  came,  I  think,  five  more  times  into  our  room,  and 
this  went  on  until  it  was  almost  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

"Give,"  he  said  to  my  mother,  and  his  face  was 
livid. 

My  mother  went  to  the  chest,  her  legs  trembled  and 
she  staggered. 

Hidden  under  my  coverlid,  I  could  still  see  how  my 
father's  tall  figure  was  shaking  and  how  he  supported 
himself  against  the  stove. 

' '  Be  quicker ! "  he  said  to  my  mother,  losing  all  pa- 
tience and  with  impatient  gestures  of  his  arms. 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER    35 

My  mother  handed  him  the  money. 

*'Give  me  all  of  it,"  he  said. 

''These  are  the  last  ten  ducats,"  she  answered.  It 
was  no  longer  a  voice  or  a  whisper  that  we  heard,  but 
something  like  a  death  rattle. 

He  gathered  up  the  money  and  rushed  out  of  the 
room. 

My  mother  sank  beside  the  chest,  and  fainted.  My 
sister  screamed.  I  sprang  out  of  bed.  Djokica  did 
the  same.  We  sat  down  on  the  floor  around  her,  and 
began  to  kiss  her  hand,  crying,  ' '  Mamma,  Mamma. ' ' 

She  put  her  hand  on  my  head  and  murmured  some- 
thing. Then  she  rose  and  lit  a  small  taper  and  the 
votive  lamp  before  St.  George. 

"Come  children,  pray  to  God,  that  he  may  deliver 
us  from  misfortune,"  she  said.  Her  voice  rang  like 
a  bell,  and  her  eyes  shone  like  the  star  of  the  shep- 
herds, radiant  in  the  sky. 

We  ran  after  her  to  the  icon,  and  all  knelt  down; 
while  Djokica,  kneeling  in  front  of  mother,  turned 
his  face  toward  her,  crossed  himself,  and  repeated, 
poor  little  chap,  the  half  of  the  pater  which  he  had 
already  learned.  Then  he  crossed  himself  again,  kissed 
mother's  hand,  and  gave  himself  up  to  gazing  at  her. 
Two  rivers  of  tears  poured  from  her  eyes.  Her  look 
was  upturned  to  the  saint  and  to  God.  There,  on  high, 
was  something  that  she  could  see,  her  God,  whom  she 
adored  and  who  looked  down  again  upon  her.    At  that 


36  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

moment  there  came  over  her  face  an  expression  of 
rapture,  a  sort  of  radiance,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
God  caressed  her  with  his  hand,  and  that  the  Saint 
smiled,  and  that  the  dragon  died  beneath  his  spear. 
Then  my  eyes  were  dazzled,  and  I  fell  forward  on  the 
edge  of  my  mother's  dress  and  against  her  left  arm 
which  supported  me,  and  I  prayed  for  the  hundredth 
time,  "Oh  God,  you  see  my  mother!  My  God,  I  be- 
seech you  for  my  father!"  Then  I  added,  I  don't 
know  why,  "  Oh  God,  kill  that  Zelenbach!" 

"We  prayed  like  this  for  a  long  time. 

At  last  my  mother  rose  and  climbing  on  a  chair, 
kissed  the  image  of  St.  George,  my  sister  did  the  same, 
and  lifted  up  Djokica  and  me  so  that  we  could  kiss  it 
also.  Then  my  mother  took  the  spray  of  dried  basil 
which  was  kept  behind  the  icon  and  the  vial  of  water 
that  had  been  blessed  at  the  Epiphany  from  where  it 
hung  below  the  image.  She  dipped  the  basil  in  the 
water  and  murmuring  something,  she  made  with  the 
spray  a  sign  of  the  cross  in  the  room.  After  that, 
opening  the  door  very  softly,  she  tiptoed  down  to  the 
big  room,  on  the  door  of  which  she  made  another  cross 
with  her  spray  of  basil. 

Ah,  how  light  I  felt  then,  and  how  happy,  as  if  I 
had  just  come  from  taking  a  bath.  Why  is  it  that  I 
never  have  that  sort  of  feeling  now? 

My  mother  had  hardly  made  her  sign  of  the  cross 
on  the  door  of  the  big  room,  when  a  tumult  began  in- 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER    37 

side.  It  was  impossible  to  distin^ish  anything,  ex- 
cept that  once  we  heard  Zelenbach  shout  with  all  his 
might. 

' '  Who  can  force  me  to  go  on  with  the  game  ?  Who 
is  the  man  who  will  try  that  ? ' ' 

Then  there  was  more  confused  noise  and  violent  dis- 
puting. We  heard  the  door  open,  then  a  murmur,  and 
steps    .     .     . 

But  papa  did  not  come  back  to  our  room.  We  waited 
in  vain.  The  dawn  began  to  break,  we  fell  asleep, 
Djokica  and  I,  but  still  he  did  not  come. 

When  I  awoke  the  sun  was  already  high.  I  felt 
horribly  tired,  but  couldn't  close  my  eyes  again,  so  I 
got  up. 

Everything  seemed  in  some  strange  way  solemn,  but 
sad.  Out  of  doors,  the  air  was  calm,  a  clear  shaft  of 
sunshine  fell  through  the  open  window,  and  in  front 
of  the  icon,  a  little  flame  still  trembled  in  the  lamp. 
My  mother  and  sister  were  as  white  as  linen,  their 
eyes  were  soft  with  tears  and  their  faces  seemed  made 
of  wax.  Without  letting  even  their  fingers  crack,  they 
moved  about  on  tiptoe,  and  in  silence,  except  for  a 
few  whispered  words  of  prayer.  They  did  not  give  us 
any  breakfast  or  ask  if  we  were  hungry,  and  my 
mother  did  not  send  me  to  school. 

"What  does  it  mean,"  I  asked  myself,  "is  there  a 
death  in  tlie  house,  or  has  my  uncle  come  back,  and 
shall  we  have  to  bury  him  over  again?" 


38  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

Then  I  felt  frozen  with  fear,  remembering  what  had 
happened  during  the  night,  and  I  murmured  mechanic- 
ally, "Oh  God,  you  know  what  I  prayed  to  you  for 
papa,"  and  again,  "My  God  kill  that  Zelenbaeh." 

"Without  thinking  I  dressed,  went  out  of  my  room, 
and  turned  naturally  toward  the  big  room,  but  recoiled 
at  once  as  I  felt  my  mother  seize  my  arm.  I  turned  to 
her,  but  she  told  me  nothing,  only  putting  her  finger 
to  her  lips ;  and  then  led  me  to  the  house  door  and  left 
me  there.  She  went  back  to  her  room,  and  I,  following 
her  with  my  eyes,  did  not  know  what  to  think.  I 
slipped  back  on  my  toes  to  the  big  room,  and  put  my 
eye  to  the  keyhole. 

I  noticed  carefully  what  I  saw.  The  table  was  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  the  chairs  were  scattered  about 
and  two  or  three  were  overturned.  Strewn  over  the 
floor  were  thousands  of  cards,  cigars,  some  whole  and 
some  trodden  on,  a  broken  coffee  cup,  and  lying  on-  a 
card  gleamed  one  gold  ducat.  The  tablecloth  was  pulled 
half  off.  On  the  table  were  scattered  playing  cards, 
overturned  cups  full  of  stubs  and  cigar  ashes  and  some 
empty  saucers  into  one  of  which  someone  had  cleaned 
out  his  pipe.  Besides  this  there  were  four  empty 
candlesticks,  in  one  of  which  the  coarse  paper  which 
had  been  around  the  candle  still  burned  with  a  line 
of  black  smoke  that  rose  and  broke  against  the  ceiling. 

On  a  chair  by  the  table,  with  his  back  to  the  door, 


THE  FIRST  ]\IATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER    39 

my  father  was  sitting.  His  elbows  were  on  the  table, 
his  head  in  his  hands,  he  did  not  move. 

I  watched  a  long  time  but  he  remained  motionless. 
I  was  frightened,  and  imagined  some  mysterious 
trouble.  It  seemed  to  me,  I  don't  know  why,  that  my 
father  was  dead,  and  I  was  surprised  that  a  corpse 
could  breathe.  Then  I  thought  that  his  strong  arms 
were  made  of  cardboard,  and  he  could  never  use  them 
to  strike  again,  and  other  fancies  of  the  same  kind 
came  into  my  mind. 

God  knows  how  long  I  would  have  stayed  there 
watching  if  my  mother's  hand  had  not  touched  me 
again.  She  said  nothing,  but  with  her  eyes  she  showed 
me  the  way  to  the  house  door. 

And  I,  I  don't  know  why,  took  off  my  hat,  kissed  her 
hand,  and  left  the  house. 

That  day  was  a  Saturday. 

When  I  went  out  into  the  street,  all  the  world  were 
following  their  ordinary  lives  and  attending  to  their 
business.  Sturdy  peasants  were  bringing  all  sorts  of 
things  to  the  market  place,  merchants  were  examin- 
ing the  bags  of  vegetables  and  feeling  of  the  lambs. 
The  new  Guard  shouted,  and  directed  where  each  man 
should  put  his  cart.  The  children  stole  cherries. 
Sretan,  the  towncryer,  went  through  the  streets,  call- 
ing out  that  it  was  forbidden  to  let  pigs  run  free  in 
the  streets.    Trivko  showed  quarters  of  lamb,  crying, 


40  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Come  and  buy  roasts,"  and  Josa  the  drunkard  dab- 
bled his  feet  in  a  puddle. 

"What  is  the  matter,  is  your  shop  closed?"  Ignace 
the  furrier  who  was  passing  at  the  moment  asked  me. 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"Mitar  isn't  ill?'* 

"No,"  I  answered. 

"He  has  gone  away  somewhere?" 

"To  the  village,"  I  replied,  and  escaped  from  the 
courtyard. 

And  now  there  arrived  two  "witnesses"  or  "boys 
of  honor"  as  they  were  called,  that  is  to  say  two  of 
my  schoolfellows  who  had  been  sent  by  the  teacher 
to  see  why  I  had  not  come  to  school. 

I  never  remembered  until  that  moment  that  I  should 
have  gone.  I  caught  up  my  books  and  a  piece  of  bread, 
and  looked  at  my  mother  and  the  witnesses. 

"Say  to  the  master,  children,  that  Misa  could  not 
come  earlier,  that  he  was  detained. ' ' 

That  dear  hand!  Could  I  ever  kiss  it  enough, — 
when  she  was  asleep — when  she  could  not  see  me. 

I  do  not  know  what  happened  at  home  while  I  was 
at  school,  but  I  know  that  when  I  returned  everything 
was  just  as  I  had  left  it.  My  mother  and  sister  were 
sitting  with  their  hands  on  their  knees,  the  dinner 
was  not  cooked,  and  they  tiptoed  by  the  big  room  and 
sighed  as  they  had  done  when  my  uncle  died.  Djokica, 
out  in  the  court,  had  tied  a  coffeepot  to  the  cat's  tail 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER   41 

and  was  watcMag  it  run.  The  clerks  were  sewing  on 
blouses  in  their  room,  while  Stojan  had  buried  him- 
self in  the  hay  and  was  snoring  as  if  it  was  midnight. 

My  father  was  sitting  in  the  same  place.  He  had 
not  stirred.  His  furlined  coat,  fastened  around  his 
broad  shoulders,  gaped  open  at  the  waist  from  his 
heavy  breathing. 

Vespers  had  rung  long  ago. 

The  day  was  sinking  to  its  close,  and  in  our  hearts 
reigned  the  same  despair,  to  which  no  one  could  see 
any  end,  but  only  clouds  that  gathered  thicker  and 
thicker.  Everything  grew  more  intolerable,  more  ter- 
rible and  more  desperate. 

** Return  again,  0  my  God,  and  have  mercy." 

I  sat  on  the  doorstep,  in  front  of  the  house.  I  held 
some  schoolbook  in  my  hand,  but  I  did  not  read  it.  I 
saw  in  the  window  my  mother's  white  face,  resting  on 
her  little  feverish  hand.  My  ears  rang,  and  I  could 
not  think  at  all. 

Suddenly  a  key  grated  in  the  lock.  My  mother  dis- 
appeared from  the  window.    I  simply  could  not  think. 

The  door  of  the  big  room  was  open.  He  stood  on  the 
threshold — he — my  father ! 

His  fez,  pushed  back  a  little,  showed  the  hair  which 
fell  over  his  wide  brow.  His  moustache  drooped,  and 
his  face  had  grown  sombre  and  much  older.  But  his 
eyes,  those  eyes !  They  had  not  the  least  resemblance 
to  what  his  eyes  had  been.    They  had  simply  vanished, 


42  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

sunk  into  his  head;  half  covered  by  the  lids,  they 
moved  slowly  and  looked  out  with  no  interest  or  ex- 
pression. They  looked  for  nothing  and  they  noticed 
nothing.  There  was  about  them  a  sort  of  emptiness, 
like  spectacles  with  the  glass  broken  out.  On  his  lips 
was  a  sad  gentle  smile,  such  as  had  never  been  seen 
there  before.  It  was  the  same  expression  that  my 
uncle  had  had,  when,  just  before  his  death,  he  asked 
for  the  sacrament. 

He  went  slowly  down  the  hall,  opened  the  door  of 
our  room,  looked  in,  and  then  passed  through  without 
a  word.  Having  closed  the  door  behind  him,  he  went 
out  into  the  street,  and  walked  slowly  toward  the  house 
of  his  partner  Ilija. 

Thomas,  the  latter 's  son,  told  me  later  that  his 
father  and  mine  were  shut  up  together  in  a  room,  that 
they  talked  a  long  time  about  something  in  a  low 
voice,  that  they  had  had  paper  brought,  and  ink,  and 
that  they  had  written  something  and  put  seals  on  it. 
What  this  was  he  did  not  know,  and  no  one  ever  found 
out. 

At  about  half  past  nine,  we  were  all  in  bed  except 
my  mother  who  sat  with  folded  hands,  gazing  at  the 
candle.  At  that  moment  the  gate  of  the  courtyard 
creaked.  My  mother  blew  out  the  candle  and  slipped 
into  bed. 

My  heart  beat  under  my  blanket  as  if  someone  was 
hitting  my  chest  with  a  hammer. 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  "WITH  MY  FATHER    43 

The  door  opened  and  my  father  came  in.  He  moved 
once  or  twice  across  the  room,  and  undressed  without 
lighting  the  candle  and  went  to  bed.  For  a  long  time 
I  heard  him  turning  in  his  bed,  and  then  I  fell  asleep. 

I  don't  know  how  long  I  had  slept,  when  I  felt 
something  damp  on  my  forehead.  I  opened  my  eyes 
and  watched.  The  full  moon  looked  directly  into  our 
room  and  its  rays  fell  on  my  mother 's  face,  like  spider- 
webs. 

Her  eyes  were  closed,  she  had  the  look  of  a  person 
who  is  very  ill,  and  her  breath  came  quick  and  short. 

Above  her  stood  my  father,  motionless,  with  his 
eyes  riveted  on  her  face. 

After  a  little  while  he  came  to  our  bed,  but  merely 
looked  at  us  and  at  my  sister.  Then  he  placed  himself 
once  more  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  encircled  it  again 
with  his  eyes  and  muttered,  "They  are  asleep." 

But  he  shuddered  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  and 
seemed  to  turn  to  stone.  There,  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  he  stood  a  long  time  without  any  change  except 
that  I  saw  his  eyes  soften  from  time  to  time  as  he 
looked,  first  at  us  and  then  at  my  mother. 

We  never  made  a  sign ! 

Then,  moving  quietly  and  without  ever  taking  his 
eyes  off  us  he  carefully  unhooked  his  silver  pistol  from 
the  cloakstand  where  it  hung,  thrust  it  into  his  coat, 
pulled  his  fez  over  his  eyes,  and  walking  with  quick 
long  strides,  went  out  of  the  house. 


44  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

The  door  had  hardly  closed  after  him  when  my 
mother  rose  up  in  her  bed.  My  sister  did  the  same. 
You  might  have  thought  them  spirits! 

My  mother  got  up  quickly,  but  with  caution,  and 
went  to  the  door.    My  sister  followed  her. 

"Stay  with  the  children,"  whispered  my  mother, 
and  went  out. 

I  sprang  up  and  started  for  the  door.  My  sister 
caught  me  by  the  arm,  but  I  slipped  out  of  her  grasp, 
and  said : 

''Stay  with  the  children." 

As  soon  as  I  was  out  of  the  house  I  ran  to  the  hedge- 
row and  slipping  along  it,  hiding  under  the  cherry 
trees,  I  got  to  the  well,  behind  which  I  hid  myself. 

The  night  was  divinely  beautiful.  The  sky  was 
clear,  the  moon  brilliant,  the  air  full  of  freshness, 
and  nothing  was  moving  anywhere.  I  saw  my  father 
look  into  the  window  of  the  clerk's  room,  and  then 
go  on.  At  last  he  stopped  under  the  shed  roof,  and 
drew  out  his  pistol.  But,  just  at  this  moment,  my 
mother,  coming  from  I  don't  know  where,  appeared 
beside  him. 

The  poor  man  was  frozen  with  terror.  He  gazed  at 
her  with  open  mouth. 

"Mitar,  my  dear,  my  Lord  and  Master,  what  do  you 
mean  to  do?" 

My  father  trembled.    Stuck  there  like  a  candle,  he 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER   45 

looked  at  my  mother  with  empty  eyes,  and  said  in  a 
voice  like  a  cracked  bell: 

"Go  away,  Marica,  leave  me,  I  am  lost." 

''What!  Lost,  my  lord?  May  God  help  you,  why 
do  yon  say  that  ? ' ' 

"I  have  thrown  away  everything!" 

"But,  my  dear,  it  was  you  who  first  earned  it!" 

My  father  started  back,  and  stood  abashed  before 
my  mother. 

"Yes,  but  all,"  he  said,  "all,  all." 

"And  even  if  that  is  so?"  said  my  mother. 

"The  horse  too,"  he  replied. 

"An  old  nag,"  she  answered. 

"And  the  field!" 

"Just  dirt." 

He  came  close  to  my  mother,  and  looked  into  the 
white  of  her  eyes,  as  if  he  would  scorch  her,  but  she 
stood  like  a  saint  of  the  good  God. 

"The  house  too,"  he  said,  opening  his  eyes  very 
wide. 

"And  what  of  that,"  said  my  mother,  "so  long  as 
you,  yourself,  are  here  strong  and  well?" 

"Marica!" 

"Mitar!" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Marica?" 

"I  mean  that  God  has  let  you  have  life,  as  he  has 
our  children.     It  is  not  the  house  nor  the  field  that 


46  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

takes  care  of  us,  but  you,  our  provider.  We  will  never 
suffer  from  hunger  while  you  are  with  us. ' ' 

My  father  seemed  moved.  Putting  his  hand  on  my 
mother's  shoulder,  he  began — 

"Mariea!  Do  you  .  .  ."  His  voice  choked.  He 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  sleeve  and  was  silent. 

My  mother  took  his  hand. 

"When  we  were  married,"  she  said,  ''we  had  noth- 
ing but  one  blanket,  just  one,  and  only  two  or  three 
tubs  and  barrels.  While  now,  thank  Grod,  the  house  is 
full." 

I  saw  a  drop  fall,  which  shone  in  the  moonlight,  as 
it  traced  its  path  down  my  father's  sleeve. 

"And  have  you  forgotten  that  the  garret  is  full  of 
gall  nuts?" 

"Yes,  it  is  full  of  them,"  said  my  father,  in  a 
voice  as  soft  as  silk.  He  took  his  sleeve  away  from  his 
eyes,  and  let  his  arms  fall. 

"What  is  that  wretched  ducat  doing  there?  What 
is  that  money  lying  on  the  ground?" 

* '  Take  it  for  your  business ! ' ' 

"We  will  put  it  into  wheat !" 

"Are  we  too  old  to  begin  again?  By  the  grace 
of  God  we  are  well  and  our  children  have  good  health. 
Let  us  pray  to  the  good  God  and  go  to  work." 

"Like  the  honest  people  we  are!" 

"You  are  not  stupid  like  some  men.    I  would  not 


THE  FIRST  MATINS  WITH  MY  FATHER    47 

give  your  arms  for  all  the  money  of  Panaros  and 
others  like  him." 

"And  then  we  will  buy  another  house." 

"We  will  bring  up  our  children  in  the  right  path," 
said  my  mother. 

"So  that  they  may  not  curse  me  when  I  am  dead. 
How  long  it  is  since  I  have  seen  them ! ' ' 

* '  Come  and  see  them, ' '  said  my  mother,  and  she  led 
him  like  a  child,  by  the  hand. 

In  three  bounds  I  was  back  in  my  room.  I  whispered 
to  my  sister,  "get  into  bed,"  and  then  pulled  the 
blanket  over  my  own  head. 

Those  two  crossed  the  threshold,  just  as  the  church 
bells  rang  for  the  early  mass.  They  reverbelrate 
through  the  night  and  the  christian  soul  trembles. 
Like  a  bed  of  dry  branches,  their  sound  softens  grief 
and  pain,  and  breaks  the  chains  of  vanity,  so  that  the 
contrite  soul  can  speak  with  heaven. 

"Rise  my  son,  and  let  us  go  to  church!" 

When  I  was  in  Belgrade,  last  year,  buying  some 
merchandise  I  saw  Pero  Zelenbach,  at  Torpieder,  in 
the  dress  of  a  convict.    He  was  breaking  stones. 


KANJOSH   MACEDONOVICH. 

A  Tale  of  the  Pashtrovichi,  taken  from  the  Fifteenth 
Century. 

By  Stjepan  Mitrov  Ljubisa  (1824-1878) 


49 


Stjepan  Mitrov  Ljubisa  was  bom  in  Budva  (Pas- 
trovich)  Bocce  di  Cattaro,  Dalmatia,  in  1824.  He  had 
little  education  lia\'ing  only  attended  school  during 
the  first  four  elementary  years'  course.  For  a  while 
he  was  clerk  in  the  Mayor's  office  in  his  native  village 
and  then  in  1861  he  was  elected  deputy  to  the  Diet 
of  Lara  (Dalmatia).  Later  on  he  was  chosen  deputy 
to  the  Parliament  at  Vienna,  as  Dalmatia  was  at  that 
time  a  part  of  Austria-Hungary  though  at  present 
it  is,  except  for  a  few  places  still  under  discussion, 
part  of  the  Kingdom  of  the  Serbs,  Croats  and  Slo- 
venes. He  was  a  politician  of  high  character  and 
merit  and  defended  well  the  rights  of  the  Serbs  in 
Dalmatia.  A  writer  of  great  talent,  he  published  two 
volumes  of  stories  which  are  all  based  on  the  popular 
legends  of  his  native  country.    He  died  in  1878. 


50 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH 
By  Stjepan  Mitrov  Ljubisa 

In  the  middle  of  the  coast  of  the  territory  of  the 
Pashtrovichi  is  a  small  inlet — a  bare  coast  which  the 
people  even  to-day  call  "The  Fine  Sand."  This, 
a  long  time  ago,  was  the  place  where  the  people  met 
for  their  assembly  and  made  decisions  when  the  com- 
munity was  free  and  governed  itself  independently. 

Four  judges  and  twelve  nobles  from  every  tribe,  a 
man  for  each,  chosen  freely  and  in  turn  would  sit  on 
a  boundary  above  the  sand  and  the  other  householders 
one  after  the  other  on  "The  Sand."  There  they 
would  make  decrees  and  judge  the  most  important 
matters.  A  skilled  clerk  would  on  each  occasion  enter 
in  a  great  book  what  the  assembly  had'  decided,  or 
what  judgments  the  judges  had  pronounced. 

Every  year  on  Bidov's  day  in  the  height  of  the 
summer  the  assembly  chose  freely  the  judges  and 
nobles  for  the  year.  They  handed  them  the  code  of 
law,  the  ancient  books,  the  charter  and  the  silver 
seal;  and  the  newly-elected  swore  to  the  assembly 
that  they  would  impartially  administer  justice  and 
carry  out  the  laws  and  decisions  of  the  assembly. 

In  the  famine-stricken  year  1423,  at  the  beginning 
of  April,  Gembo  the  voivoda  of  the  coast  enticed  and 
cheated  them  into  putting  themselves  of  their  own 

51 


52  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

free  will  under  the  protection  of  the  winged  lion  of 
St.  Mark,  pretending  that  it  was  in  order  that  the 
Turks  might  not  scorch  them  up.  It  was  agreed  in 
writing  on  "The  Sand"  that  their  constitution  should 
be  left  to  tliem  in  its  entirety  and  that  no  kind  of  toll 
should  be  taken  from  them,  neither  a  monetary  tax 
nor  a  tax  of  persons.  Do  not  ask  me  how  Venice  kept 
her  word,  and  how  little  by  little  she  mutilated  and 
shaved  away  the  concessions  that  had  been  agreed 
upon.  You  know  it  yourself  or  you  can  easily  find 
out.  It  was  just  as  when  a  young  man,  swift  and  cun- 
ning, continually  implores  and  beseeches  a  young  and 
ignorant  girl,  and  she,  poor  thing,  gives  way  a  little 
to-day,  a  little  to-morrow  until  she  becomes  his  slave, 
and  at  last  can  refuse  him  nothing. 

One  spring  day  at  the  chief  assembly  which  the 
judges  and  nobles  had  summoned  at  the  usual  place 
of  justice  to  divide  the  dried-up  reed-beds,  there  came 
late  to  the  assembly  Kanjosh  Macedonovich,  a  man  of 
low  stature  but  as  alive  and  alert  as  though  he  could 
balance  on  the  point  of  a  needle.  A  sword  at  his  belt 
and  a  helmet  on  his  head  he  cried : — 

"God  help  you,  brothers!" 

He  had  just  come  from  a  visit  to  Venice  and  so 
they  all  embraced  and  kissed  him. 

When  he  sat  down  the  judges  began  questioning 
him  about  Venice  and  the  tidings  he  had  collected 
there  and  brought  with  him. 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  53 

"I  have  plenty  to  tell  you  if  you  will  not  be  tired 
of  listening/'  said  Kan  josh.  "As  you  have  heard  I 
took  some  merchandise  to  Venice  this  winter  and 
filled  a  ship  to  the  brim  with  olive  oil,  wine,  pitch,  and 
skins.  When  I  came  there,  spies  pressed  upon  me, 
to  extort  and  fleece  me: 

"  *0f  each  hundred  peppercorns  give  thirty  to  St. 
Mark, '  said  the  head  of  the  spies ;  and  one  who  spoke 
our  language  brokenly  added : — 

"  'And  enough  drink  for  us!' 

<(  'Thirty  per  cent!  That  is  half,  if  you  are  to 
reckon  my  trouble,  waste  of  time  and  the  hire  of  the 
boat.  Saint  Mark,  Thanks  and  Glory  to  him !  neither 
eats  nor  drinks,  and  I  have  agreed  with  the  Doge  that 
I  should  give  him  nothing,  but  that  I  should  kiss  his 
hand,  and  that  he  should  defend  me  from  the  Turk.' 

"  'Cheap  indeed!'  said  the  spy^  *if  you  are  to  do 
nothing  but  kiss  his  hand.'  And  he  began  to  smile 
and  to  laugh.  And  so,  I  swear  by  Sunday,  the  devil 
drank  up  my  mind,  and  if  he  had  not  gone  into  the 
castle  I  should  have  cut  him  in  two  with  my  sword. 
Then  my  trouble  with  the  Doge  would  have  been  for 
nothing. 

"And  I  having  made  an  end  in  that  way,  knocked 
about  and  tore  through  the  town  until  good  fortune 
brought  me  to  a  good-hearted  man.  lie  took  me  along 
with  him  that  I  might  have  my  complaints  written 
down  in  the  house  of  a  bald  man  who  took  a  ducat 


54  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

from  me  for  writing  doAvn  my  wrongs  on  a  span  of 
paper. 

"  '"Wait,'  I  said.  *Do  not  be  in  a  hurrj^  let  me 
tell  you  different  things — '  but  he  said  witheringly  to 
me: — 

"  'I  know  better  when  I  am  asleep  than  you  when 
you  are  full}^  awake.* 

* '  Then  he  would  no  longer  listen  to  me  but  instant- 
ly shut  the  door. 

"So  I  took  that  evil  letter  and  they  led  me  with 
it  to  a  fine  house  and  said  that  I  should  wait. 

*'I  waited  and  waited  three  good  hours,  until  my 
sorrow  enveloped  me.  Then  at  last  the  door  opened 
and  out  stumbled  a  lame  man  in  green  clothing  like  a 
lizard.  He  took  my  paper  from  my  hand,  fixed  his 
spectacles  on  his  nose,  then,  scarcely  having  read  it 
through  he  said : — 

"  'These  are  not  our  affairs,  but  hasten  where  you 
came  from. ' 

"I  cried  out: —  'But  whose  affairs  are  they,  for  the 
wounds  of  God?    Why  do  you  torture  me?* 

"He  did  not  turn  round,  but  limping  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  doors  he  mumbled : — 

"  'The  forty.' 

"I  thought: — What  devil  will  collect  them  at  'onael 
But  my  guide  told  me  that  they  were  always  assembled. 

"  'But,'  he  said,  'hasten  before  they  disperse.' 

"When  I  came  there  the  guard  cried: — 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  55 

"  'They  are  not  judging  to-day,  but  another  day. 
Come  earlier  to-morrow.' 

* '  It  was  getting  dark,  and  I  had  eaten  nothing,  but 
was  filled  with  sorrow  from  my  throat  to  my  breath, 
and  I  went  straight  to  bed  without  food. 

"A  devilish  dream  I  had  the  whole  night;  but  I 
turned  about  and  threw  myself  over  until  dawn.  At 
daybreak  I  rose  and  went  round  Venice  from  end  to 
end.  The  sun  was  already  three  lances  risen,  but  the 
town  was  deserted  and  without  people;  for  there 
everyone  sleeps  until  midday.  When  it  is  dusk  they 
feast;  but  before  dawn  they  lie  down.  By  God's  help 
I  found  a  guide  and  I  went  with  him  to  the  Forty. 

""We  went  into  the  palace  and  waited  in  the  first 
vestibule  two  whole  hours,  until  a  man  in  black  cloth- 
ing and  cap  came  out.    I  should  say  he  was  the  priest. 

"I  advanced  and  gave  him  the  letter  and  he  said 
to  me: — 

**  *  To-day  we  have  a  great  rush  of  business,  but 
come  the  day  after  to-morrow  and  bring  your  letter.' 

"And  I  the  next  day  but  one  waited  again  three 
hours  before  the  doors,  and  I  wearied  God  praying 
him  not  to  turn  from  me  until  at  least  a  servant  had 
been  touched.  They  went  into  a  room  and  brought 
out  a  young  man,  dried  up  and  tall  as  though  they 
had  drawn  him  from  a  grave.  He  solemnly  brought 
that  ill-omened  complaint  and  wrote  under  it  five  or 
six  words,  then  he  directed  me  to  a  second,  and  the 


56  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

second  to  a  third,  until  the  soul  of  the  third  was 
touched. 

**  *And  why  did  you  not  come  to  me  before,'  he 
said,  'instead  of  making  a  web  round  the  town  like  a 
butterfly  round  a  candle.' 

**Then  he  also  admonished  me  with  the  following 
words : — 

*'  *Com-e  to-morrow,'  he  said,  *in  order  that  I  may 
give  you  information  on  the  smallest  detail,  for  you 
are  too  late  for  that  work  to-day.' 

"And  I  went  the  next  day  but  there  was  no  trace 
of  him  and  the  wretched  doors  were  closed.  I  knocked 
and  beat  my  breast  but  there  was  no  answer  from  the 
chicken-hearted  soul. 

"I  waited  there  until  dark  night,  until  my  brain 
began  to  turn  to  water.  Then,  sad  and  sorrowful,  I 
thought  over  my  situation  and  went  to  an  inn,  pre- 
tending to  pull  myself  together  with  wine.  I  was 
just  about  to  eat  some  meat  when  there  resounded  and 
shrilled  through  the  inn : — 

"  *What  is  the  news,  man?' 

*'  'Evil,'  said  a  man  from  Grach.  'It  could  not  be 
worse. ' 

"  '  Tell  us,  man,  that  I  may  know  about  it,  too.' 

"The  man  of  Grach  began  to  tell  how  a  certain  great 
man  from  Fur  withdrew  his  fealty  from  the  Doge  and 
burst  into  rebellion  against  him, 

**  *He  put  up  a  tent,'  said  the  man  of  Grach,  'on 


KAN  JOSH  MACEDONOVICH  57 

a  certain  little  island  in  the  middle  of  the  city.  The 
water  all  round  protected  him,  and  he  called  the  Doge 
to  a  combat,  or  if  he  did  not  either  come  out  himself 
in  combat  or  send  a  combatant  in  his  place,  he  (the 
Doge)  was  to  hand  over  to  him  the  keys  of  the  treasure 
of  Saint  Mark  and  his  only  daughter  for  a  wife. 
Venice  remained  under  this  impost,'  said  the  man  of 
Grach  laughing.  '  There  was  not  a  champion,  and  the 
Doge  lost  courage  with  his  age  in  his  heart.  He  was 
read}'  to  give  the  man  of  Fur  his  daughter  and  to 
give  up  the  sovereignty  to  him.' 

"  'And  was  it  not  possible,'  said  I,  'in  such  a  great 
city  to  find  a  champion?' 

"  'No,  God  be  with  me,  not  a  single  one,'  answered 
the  man  of  Grach.  'Everyone  feels  comfortable  for 
himself. ' 

"  'Just  see  how  small  I  am,  and  yet  how  willingly 
I  would  try  my  hand  with  him!' 

"Those  men  began  to  laugh  among  themselves  at 
seeing  me  such  a  handful  of  misery,  and  one  who  had 
looked  me  all  over,  said : — 

"  'Men  are  not  measured  by  a  handrule;  but  by 
their  boldness  and  sense. ' — and  this  man  accompanied 
me  right  up  to  the  sleeping  room,  and  the  whole  way 
lie  questioned  me  and  asked  me  who  I  was  and  where 
I  came  from. 

"In  the  morning  I  had  hardly  on  my  shoes  when 
there  was  a  man  beside  me. 


58  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"  'Quick!'  he  called,  'the  court  is  waiting  for  you.* 

"I  thought: — The  one  who  deceived  me  yesterday 
is  summoning  me ;  but  when  I  came  to  the  judgment 
it  was  another  and  more  spacious  house — steps  of 
marble,  and  pillars  as  high  as  a  white  poplar. 

*  *  I  went  into  a  court  where  sat  three  old  men  under 
a  black  curtain.  If  a  candle  had  not  been  burning  I 
should  have  seen  nothing — and  in  front  of  them  was 
a  golden  cross.  They  asked  me  whence  I  came,  and 
why  I  was  knocking  about  Venice.  I  told  them  all  in 
order,  as  I  am  now  telling  you,  until  one  broke  in : — 

**  'I  am  not  asking  you  about  trifles  (mark  that! 
'trifles')  but  what  were  you  drivelling  about  last 
night  in  the  inn?' 

*'I  told  him  all  truly  and  shortly: —  *I  was  not 
drivelling,  nor  was  I  drunk,  but  I  was  talking  well — 
better  than  you  are  now. ' 

"One  of  them  smiled : — 'But  are  there  really  among 
you  true  servants  who  would  die  for  the  Doge?' 

"  'Yes,  a  hundred,'  said  I. 

"They  added  something  in  a  whisper,  until  the 
same  one  spoke  again: — 

"  'Here  is  a  letter  for  you,  granting  that  you  may 
sell  merchandise  freely  without  customs  duty.' 

"At  that  one  of  the  men  with  him  laughed : — '  Some- 
one has  been  playing  a  joke  on  you,  but  we  will  tell 
him  how  he  must  treat  the  Pastrovichi  when  they 
bring  merchandise — and  here  are  ten  ducats  for  yov 


Kj^NJOSH  MACEDONOVICn  59 

for  your  waste  of  time.  Come  here  early  to-morrow 
and  we  \Wll  talk  over  something — not  three  hundred 
in  the  evening  and  nothing  in  the  morning.' 

*  *  I  said  to  them : — 

"  'I  will  not  take  a  single  piece  of  money  from 
you,  my  lords,  if  you  have  given  judgment  that  the 
spy  was  joking,  and  that  he  shall  pay  for  his  joke.  I 
am  going  about  my  work  now,  and  you  shall  behold  me 
to-morrow  when  it  is  finished. ' 

"I  sold  my  merchandise  for  ready  money  and  set- 
tled my  affairs,  and  when  I  went  to  the  court  next 
morning,  there  those  three  were  waiting  for  me  since 
dawn. 

* '  They  gave  rae  a  little  table  to  sit  at  and  brought 
me  about  half  a  pint  of  coffee. 

"I  thought  that  I  would  return  it  as  a  bribe;  but 
that  seemed  shameful  to  me  and  I  drained  it  to  the 
bottom. 

''One  judge  began : —  'Would  you  oblige  me  by  tak- 
ing  to  your  brothers  the  Doge 's  greeting  and  affection^ 
and  ask  them  to  send  the  Doge  a  champion  to  fight  a 
boaster  with  whom  it  is  not  worthy  for  the  Doge  to 
soil  his  hands?* 

"I  answered  that  I  would  be  willing  to  take  the 
affection  and  greeting  of  the  honored  Doge  to  my 
brothers  if  I  were  to  hear  those  words  from  his  own 
lips. 


60  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"  'As  regards  your  asking  for  a  champion  for  the 
Doge,  to  destroy  his  rebel — I  consider  that  if  it  is  not 
a  glory  for  the  Doge  to  fight  him  himself,  neither 
would  it  be  worthy  for  him  to  send  anyone  in  his 
place,  for  that  would  mean  two  shameful  deeds.' 

''The  judge  saw  that  he  did  not  prevail  and  he 
said  to  me : — '  You  have  not  understood  it  rightly ;  but 
come  to-morrow  at  midday  to  the  Doge's  palace  that 
we  may  bring  you  before  the  Doge  and  that  you  may 
make  your  homage  and  receive  your  instructions.' 

"The  next  day  I  dressed  myself  in  a  green  velvet 
dolman  that  I  had  had  made  the  year  before  in 
Ragusa,  and  a  tunic  and  leggings  of  pure  spangles 
that  I  had  got  in  Skador  in  the  summer.  On  my 
girdle  was  a  superfine  sword  in  a  silver  sheath  that 
my  grandfather  had  bought  for  me  in  Spain,  and  on 
my  head  a  Constantinople  helmet — on  the  top  of  which 
there  stood  a  swan's  feather  almost  as  high  as  myself. 

"When  I  came  to  the  Doge's  entry  there  were 
nobles  like  chaff,  all  dressed  in  silk  embroidered  ^vith 
gold.  Serv^ants  came  up  and  accompanied  me  to  their 
lord.  All  collected  around  me  like  birds  round  a 
white  owl,  to  look  at  me  and  to  touch  my  clothes. 
What  a  pity  that  I  was  not  taller! 

"At  that  moment  a  great  door  opened  and  there 
came  forth  an  old  man  white  as  a  sheep. 

' '  '  Here  is  the  Doge ! '  they  cried — and  behind  him 
out  stumbled  the  Doge. 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  61 

*'The  moment  I  saw  him  I  said  to  myself: — 'That 
man  could  not  even  pull  a  tail,  much  less  fight ! ' 

' '  He  went  straight  to  me,  struck  me  on  the  shoulder 
and  took  my  right  hand  as  though  we  had  seen  each 
other  a  hundred  times,  and  had  eaten  together.  He 
turned  to  one  of  those  nobles  who  had  been  most  polite 
and  began  to  talk  to  him  in  a  half-voice,  so  that  I 
could  neither  hear  nor  understand  anything,  until  the 
noble  began  our  language,  and  I  should  say  it  was  like 
the  Kotorski  dialect. 

''  'The  mighty  Doge  of  most  illustrious  power,'  he 
said,  'confers  upon  me  the  honorable  task  of  inter- 
preting his  words  to  you.  You  are  fortunate  if  you 
accept  them.  He,  and  all  the  nobles  with  him,  esteem 
highly  your  brotherhood  which  has  lately  sought  ref- 
uge under  the  shadow  of  the  winged  lion  to  escape 
from  the  Turkish  yoke — one  of  the  truest  people  who 
have  had  the  good  fortune  to  live  under  this  rich  and 
just  empire  which  is  the  seat  of  God.  Now  the  suitable 
moment  has  come  for  you  to  establish  firmly  tliis  opin- 
ion of  the  Doge.  There  is  need  for  a  champion  for  the 
Doge,  who  shall  go  out  to  battle  against  a  mad  and 
worthless  rascal  who  hates  to  live  and  is  trying  to 
immortalize  himself  by  a  disgusting  deed.  The  Doge 
might  pick  anyone  for  his  champion — not  one,  but 
three  hundred — and  champions  of  a  kind  to  make  the 
world  tremble,  but  the  Doge  has  driven  away  all 
pretenders  to  his  daughter's  hand  because  he  wishes 


62  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

to  open  the  path  of  glory,  honor  and  immortality  to 
your  brothers  who  have  lately  become  his  sons.  Go 
home,  then,  as  quickly  as  possible,  take  your  brothers 
the  greeting  and  affection  of  the  Doge  and  let  them 
send  him — the  quicker  the  better — a  champion  for  him 
suitable  in  form  and  in  heroism,  and  this  champion 
will,  if  God  grant  it,  establish  their  renown  and 
fortune. ' 

' '  I  bent  myself  to  the  black  ground  and  said  to  my- 
self: —  'How  nicely  these  lords  know  how  to  butter 
and  paint!'  and  to  the  Doge  I  said  that  I  did  not 
doubt  in  the  very  least  that  my  brothers  would  will- 
ingly and  with  pleasure  accept  such  a  noble  honor, 
and  that  they  would  send  the  Doge  a  hero  worthy  of 
him. 

**They  would  have  liked  to  give  me  travelling  ex- 
penses of  I  do  not  know  how  many  ducats,  but  I  re- 
fused it  and  turned  from  Venice  on  the  Monday  in 
Holy  Week.  Now  decide  wisely  whether  you  will  send 
anyone  and  what  God  and  fortune  will  give  him. ' ' 

One  of  the  nobles  who  had  not  moved  an  eyelid  the 
whole  time  Kan  josh  was  speaking  began  first: — 

"At  the  time  I  fought  the  capitulation  and  put 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  it  to  the  very  muscles  of  my 
heel,  urging  that  we  should  leave  such  Latin  rascals 
alone,  for  I  knew  even  then  that  an  agreement  with 
them  would  not  help  you.  If  it  had  not  been  for  that 
Furlan   who  has  put  the  Venetians  'into  a  goat's 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  €3 

horn,'  Kan  josh  would  have  paid  thirty  per  cent  and 
the  drink  and  he  would  have  knocked  about  Venice 
in  vain  until  Easter  from  one  evil  to  another  and  have 
become  the  laughing  stock  of  that  scoundrel  the  spy. 
At  the  time  of  the  capitulation  you  answered : —  '  The 
Turks  will  consume  us. '  Now  in  which  of  your  ills  will 
the  Venetians  on  their  dry  land  help  you,  when  the 
Turks  have  attacked  across  Albania?  Would  it  not 
have  been  better  for  us  to  hold  by  the  same  thread  as 
the  other  Serbs  and  to  defend  our  independence  at  the 
point  of  the  sword  ?  Do  you  see  the  people  of  Ragusa, 
how  wisely  they  have  behaved,  and  this  though  they 
are  not  fighters.  Now  to  kill  this  Furlan  is  to  wash 
an  ass's  tail  instead  of  holding  the  reins.  Every  year 
again  you  will  give  your  seamen  and  a  tax  and  they 
will  receive  your  complaints  as  they  received  that  of 
Kan  josh.  Do  you  not  agree  with  this?  They  will 
destroy  those  few  houses  by  the  sea  and  send  the  Turks 
to  crush  you.  Our  charter  was  recognized  by  nine 
Roman  and  Byzantine  emperors  from  Diocletian  to 
Constantino.  The  Pope  of  Rome  confirmed  it  and  so 
did  that  Lujo  from  Hungary  who  cut  off  fourteen 
hundred  heads  beyond  the  Bare  Height.  The  Serbian 
emperors  from  the  Nemanjas  to  the  Brankovich  also 
confirmed  it.  If  you  had  paid  attention  to  me,  the 
Venetians  also  would  have  confirmed  it  without  a 
surrender.  The  idea  of  their  opening  the  path  of 
glory  and  honor  to  us!     As  much  of  it,  perhaps,  as 


64  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

God  has  given  them  at  home !  But  now  at  least  hear 
me.  An  opportunity  has  come  to  correct  our  faults 
and  to  save  ourselves  from  such  Latin  rascals.  Let  us 
send  the  Doge  a  champion,  but  first  let  him  nullify  our 
treaty  and  surrender,  let  him  promise  that  we  will 
always  and  in  every  war  he  neighbours  against  the 
non-Christian ;  but  that  we  will  not  have  the  Venetians 
as  our  lords  as  long^^s  one  of  us  endure.  They  them- 
selves broke  the  contract  when  they  inflicted  such  suf- 
ferings upon  Kan  josh — 'Come  to-day,  come  to-mor- 
row to  pay  us  the  tax.'  If  we  kill  this  Furlan  it  is 
well — but  if  not?  Let  us  think  out  another  way  for 
us  to  cut  ourselves  free  at  one  stroke,  so  that  we  may 
be  masters  of  our  own  house.  They  thought  as  I  do 
now — those  men  who  remained  on  the  land,  on  the 
moor,  on  the  top  of  the  Bare  Height.  There  are  to- 
day a  thousand  men  who  would  die  to  preserve  our 
future  freedom  and  independence.  Let  the  man  whose 
life  is  dearest  to  him  go  to  take  prisoner  this  Furlan. 
An  honorable  destruction  is  better  than  a  shameful 
return. ' ' 

Imagine  whether  they  were  excited  at  these  words, 
until  one  of  the  judges  began  to  speak  softly: — 

"It  may  be  that  we  shall  not  send  a  champion,  and 
that  we  may  be  grateful  for  these  honors,  if  you  think 
that  this  Furlan  is  better  for  us  than  the  Doge.  It 
may  be  that  we  shall  break  our  contract  and  go  to  war 
with  the  Venetians;  but  look  all  around  the  question 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  65 

first.  I  have  a  reason  for  this — ^not  one,  but  many. 
Suppose  that  we  do  not  pay  the  tax,  we  have 
nowhere  to  send  merchandise  save  Venice.  Is  it  not 
BO  ?  Now  as  soon  as  we  cease  to  be  one  of  the  Venetian 
peoples  we  shall  pay  the  import  tax,  and  as  com- 
panions in  war  we  shall  give  seamen  forever.  If  they 
are  torturing  us  now  when  we  are  theirs,  what  should 
we  do  if  we  had  estranged  them  ?  Pull  yourselves  to- 
gether and  find  a  better  train  of  reasoning,  for  this 
is  a  very  poor  one.  When  you  mention  emperors  and 
princes,  M'e  have  always  had  a  master  who  has  held  us 
by  the  hair  even  though  we  governed  ourselves  inde- 
pendently, and  therefore  it  cannot  be  so  strange  to  us 
to-day.  As  to  your  saying  that  it  would  be  better 
for  us  to  resist  with  the  other  Serbs — I  ask  'Where 
are  they?'  Serbia  has  fallen,  Bosnia  has  fallen  and 
now  it  is  Albania's  hour.  The  Serbian  rulers  have 
fled  into  the  Hungarian  lands,  and  the  poor  people 
remain  under  the  yoke.  The  banship  of  Zeta  has 
fallen  and  the  people  have  fled  into  the  mountains 
there.  Who  then  wiU  help  us  when  the  Turkish  fleets 
sweep  over  the  sea?  The  Serbs  cannot  know  either 
of  our  life  or  of  our  death  for  a  year,  and  how  can 
they  help  ?  As  to  your  accusation  against  the  Vene- 
tians— that  they  have  levied  the  tax  in  spite  of  agree- 
ment— tell  me  of  one  man  who  has  paid  it — make  me 
believe  that  Kanjosh  would  have  given  it  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  Furlan.     Sailors  only  go  on  a  voyage 


66  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

because  it  is  pleasanter  for  them  to  idle  on  ships  than 
to  till  the  earth  at  home,  and  you  say  that  the  Vene- 
tians take  them  by  force !  These  are  reproaches ;  but 
let  heroism  and  evil  fortune  go,  and  keep  what  you 
have  got.  Mighty  empires  have  fallen  and  fearful 
armies  have  gone  down  before  the  might  of  Asia.  The 
West  trembles  and  the  East  blows — its  last  candle  is 
put  out.  And  we — a  handful  of  men  on  a  spot  which 
is  plundered  from  sea  and  from  land — how  are  we  to 
fight,  unless  it  is  with  fists,  for  our  own  heads  1  Say, 
if  you  will,  that  I  am  prejudiced ;  I  see  clearly.  "With- 
out the  help  of  Venice,  we  shall  remain  slaves  eter- 
nally." 

One  of  the  people  began  to  speak : — 

"And  I,  I  agree  with  him  that  your  contract  be  firm 
with  the  stronger  power,  even  so  far  as  to  think  that 
it  is  better  to  make  it  firm  with  a  striking  deed.  To 
put  the  Venetians  in  our  debt  is  to  open  the  path  of 
honor  for  ourselves.  Let  Kanjosh  go  as  champion  to 
the  Doge,  and  if  God  grant  that  he  kill  that  Italian 
dragon,  let  him  seek  to  have  the  solemn  contract  hon- 
ored, so  that  the  spies  of  the  Doge  should  not  drag  us 
away  against  our  will  in  the  streets  of  Venice.  If  he 
perish,  then  we  will  send  a  second  and  a  third  cham- 
pion.   Perhaps  this  Furlan  -svill  not  kill  us  all. ' ' 

All  agreed  to  this;  but  Kanjosh  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  cried : — 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  67 

"I  dare  not  go,  for  I  am  small,  and  the  Doge  is 
looking  for  a  group  of  men  to  go  against  this  Furlan ! ' ' 
The  majority  cried  out: 

"  If  he  kills  you,  we  will  send  some  one  larger.  You 
are  versed  in  the  ways  of  Venice,  but  ariother  man 
would  not  even  know  how  to  get  to  the  Doge 's  palace 
for  a  month.  If  you  die,  we  will  mourn  for  you  di- 
vinely and  every  one  of  us  when  he  goes  to  Venice  will 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  your  grave.  You  might  carry 
out  that  business  there  yourself  in  order  not  to  con- 
fuse the  assembly  with  such  idle  matters." 

Kanjosh  said : — 

''You  are  joking;  but  I  tell  you  seriously  that  I 
accept  the  honor  of  going  in  combat  against  this  Fur- 
lan ;  and  let  it  be  in  the  hands  of  God.  But  draw  up 
a  proper  commission  so  that  the  Doge  may  know  that 
I  come  from  the  head  of  the  whole  people. ' ' 

The  clerk  wrote  down  a  letter  as  the  judges  dictated 
it,  then  he  read  it  aloud  to  the  people,  word  for 
word : — 

"From  our  judges,  leaders,  nobles  and  the  whole 
people — in  the  name  of  the  people  of  the  faithful 
community  of  the  Pashtrovichi.  To  the  illustrious  Dogo 
greeting — and  to  his  Venetian  nobility  honor  and 
homage.  Our  noble  brother  Kanjosh  Macedonovicli 
brought  us  loving  greetings  from  you  and  a  request 
that  we  should  send  a  brother  who  would  go  forth  to 
a  contest  of  heroes  in  place  of  the  Doge.    We  are  al- 


68  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

ways  ready  and  worthy.  To  please  the  illustrious 
power  of  Venice,  we  send  you  here  that  same  Kan  josh, 
and  we  say : — 

**  'Where  he  is,  there  are  we  all  also.' 

**  Grateful  for  the  honor  that  you  have  done  us,  we 
trust  first  in  God  and  then  in  our  old-time  fortune 
that  we  shall  win  against  this  as  against  all  other 
enemies  of  the  Doge. 

"Decided  in  the  customary  place  of  justice  on  the 
Feast  of  the  IMartyrs  in  the  spring,  and  sealed  with 
a  hanging  seal. ' ' 

Kanjosh  came  to  Venice  on  Palm  Sunday  at  the 
most  beautiful  time  of  the  year.  He  did  not  loiow 
where  to  go,  or  where  not  to  go;  but  he  went  to  the 
house  of  those  three  where  he  had  drunk  the  coffee. 
At  first  the  guard  would  not  let  him  enter  but  called 
to  him : — 

"You  cannot  go  there,  but  if  you  wish  to  be  judged 
get  along  to  the  Forty." 

Kanjosh  saw  that  they  were  beginning  again  to  send 
him  from  pillar  to  post  and  he  answered  the  guard 
sharply : — 

"That  is  not  their  work.  "Why  should  I  go  to  the 
Forty  and  not  to  the  Three?  If  you  want  to  know 
who  I  am,  I  am  the  Doge's  champion." 

Kanjosh  had  hardly  uttered  this  good  news  when 
the  guard  raised  his  cap  from  his  head  and  led  Kan- 
josh from  chamber  to  chamber  until  they  came  be- 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  69 

fore  the  Three.  When  the  Three  saw  Kanjosh  they 
frowned,  because  they  thought  the  Pashtrovichi  were 
not  going  to  send  a  champion  for  the  Doge.  Kan- 
josh bowed  to  them  and  handed  them  the  letter.  All 
three  pressed  forward  to  look  at  what  was  written, 
and  one  of  them  said,  after  they  had  talked  among 
themselves : — 

""We  hoped  that  a  better  and  a  taller  hero  than  you 
would  have  come. ' ' 

Kanjosh  was  angry  enough  to  burst: — 

''Better  and  taller  men  go  forth  to  better  and  taller 
men ;  but  you  just  fall  to  my  share.  I  have  come  first 
to  you  because  I  do  not  wish  to  go  before  the  Doge 
except  in  triumph — and  it  were  well  that  you  receive 
me!" 

"Very  well,"  said  all  three,  ''if  you  do  not  wish  to 
go  before  the  Doge  but  to  hasten  to  your  destruction 
to-morrow.     Is  your  sword  sharp?" 

"For  those  heroes  of  yours,"  answered  Kanjosh, 
' '  It  will  not  be  necessary  to  sharpen  it,  it  would  only 
wear  away  the  steel.  Tell  me  where  the  battle  is  and 
the  champion,  and  then  we  shall  see  what  who  is  go- 
ing to  give  to  whom." 

They  gave  him  a  companion  and  told  him  to  go 
with  Kanjosh  to  lead  him  to  the  Furlan,  and  they  told 
him  where  to  bury  him. 

The  sun  had  passed  half  across  the  sky  when  they 
came  to  the  shore : — 


70  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

''There  you  are,"  said  the  guide,  "On  that  island 
is  the  champion  and  here  is  a  little  boat  for  you,  and 
you  go  alone.'' 

Kan  josh  said  to  him : — 

"Come  with,  me,  stupid  one.  Turn  the  boat  and 
carry  me  over.  I  will  give  you  pay,  and  you  may  be 
my  second. ' ' 

' '  I  have  not  gone  mad,  nor  do  I  hate  life,  nor  is  it 
my  lot  before  God,  to  lose  my  life  for  glory ! ' '  and  he 
fled  leaving  no  trace. 

Kanjosh  remained  alone. 

"Now  what  shall  I  do?  I  might  have  been  sitting 
at  home  like  a  gentleman!  Some  of  my  sins  have 
brought  me  to  this,  that  I  should  die  vainly  here — 
and  that  it  should  be  for  a  man,  not  to  right  any 
wrong,  but  for  a  cowardly  puffed-up  nobody.  I  will 
go  now  for  the  night,  then  to-morrow  I  will  go  again 
before  the  judges  so  that  they  may  give  me  a  com- 
panion who  will  be  my  second,  so  that  if  I  die  at  least 
my  grave  may  be  known.  As  things  are  now  I  may 
perish  foolishly  before  the  duel. ' ' 

At  this  moment  a  little  boat  set  off  from  the  island 
and  reached  the  shore.  Was  it  really  the  Furlan  with 
a  broad  sword  at  his  belt  and  dressed  in  a  wolf -skin  ? 
He  cried  aloud  to  Kanjosh : — 

"What  is  there — evil  fortune  to  you!  Who  are 
you?" 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  71 

*'I,"  said  Kan  josh,  ''am  the  Doge's  champion — but 
come  to  the  place  where  we  are  to  fight. ' ' 

"Do  not  jest,  but  tell  me  who  you  are!"  cried  the 
Furlan. 

■'You  will  soon  know  who  I  am,"  answered  Kan- 
josh.  "But  let  us  begin  fighting  quickly,  I  have  no 
time  to  waste ! "  And  he  seized  his  sword  and  gnashed 
his  teeth. 

Each  embarked  in  his  own  boat  and  went  over, 
turning  the  boat  by  the  rudder.  When  they  reached 
the  island  both  jumped  simultaneously  onto  the  shore, 
and  Kanjosh  pushed  his  boat  off  from  the  shore. 

"What  are  you  doing,"  called  the  Furlan,  "east- 
ing off  your  boat  ?    Are  you  in  your  right  mind  'i ' ' 

"We  do  not  need  two,"  answered  Kanjosh,  "I  shall 
return  in  yours,  and  you  will  need  neither  a  boat  nor 
a  horse,  for  you  have  drunk  your  glass  to  the  dregs." 

The  Furlan  was  terrified,  and  began  to  tell  of  how 
many  heroes  he  had  fought  and  killed. 

Kanjosh  called  to  him : —  "Be  quiet,  you  coward ! 
You  have  not  even  seen  a  hero,  much  less  killed  one. 
Throw  me  your  broad  sword  that  I  may  bind  your 
hands  and  lead  you  to  the  Doge  so  that  he  may  pity 
you  and  pardon  you  when  he  sees  you  in  such  a  posi- 
tion." 

"Let  disaster  and  battle  go,''  said  the  Furlan,  "and 
come  to  my  tent.  Let  us  dine — and  believe  me,  un- 
known hero,  that  Doge  for  whose  sake  you  are  going 


72  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

to  die,  is  an  enemy  to  you  just  as  much  as  he  is  to  me, 
and  I  pity  you  because  the  Devil  has  brought  you 
here  in  order  that  I  may  drain  that  innocent  blood 
of  yours." 

''Do  not  pity  me,"  cried  Kanjosh,  and  he  drew  his 
sword  from  the  scabbard  and  rushed  upon  the  Fur- 
Ian.  The  Furlan,  however,  beat  off  the  sword  with 
his  broad  sword  and  on  the  blunt  edge  of  it  there  was 
a  dent  big  enough  for  a  thumb  to  go  into.  Kanjosh 
returned  to  the  attack  a  second  and  a  third  time; 
but  the  Furlan,  in  a  skilful  way,  beat  him  off 
until  Kanjosh  by  springing  round,  turned  him  in 
such  a  way  that  the  sun  was  in  his  eyes.  The  Furlan 
struck  once  and  so  accurately  that  if  Kanjosh  had 
not  sharply  let  his  body  go,  the  Furlan  would  have 
cut  him  asunder.  When  the  Furlan  smote  a  second 
time,  Kanjosh  sprang  round  him  and  cut  him  with 
his  sword  from  the  left  breast  up  to  the  right  shoulder 
blade.  The  Furlan  fell,  and  there  flowed  from  his 
wound  unclean  blood  as  though  an  ox  had  been 
slaughtered, 

Kanjosh  came  up  to  him,  drew  the  ring  from  his 
finger  and  unbelted  his  sword.  Then  he  left  him  to 
breathe  his  last. 

He  embarked  in  the  little  boat  and  reached  the 
shore.  There  on  the  shore  was  collected  every  wo- 
man in  Venice.    It  was  a  matter  of  nine  anxieties  to 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  73 

make  his  way  with  those  women  accompanying^  him 
with  song  and  rejoicing. 

"Those  women  were  harder  for  me,"  said  Kanjosh 
later,  "than  the  Furlan  and  his  broad  sword." 

The  news  flew  through  the  town  like  lightning  that 
the  Furlan  had  fallen.  One  man  said  that  he  had 
seen  his  head,  another  his  heart,  another  described  the 
battle  as  though  he  had  seen  the  whole  thing  with  his 
own  eyes  and  a  hundred  collected  round  him  to  listen. 
The  bells  in  all  the  churches  rang,  the  shops  shut  be- 
fore dark,  flutes  and  big  drums  played,  the  town  was 
illuminated  so  that  one  could  see  as  though  it  were 
midday,  and  the  people  flocked  together  from  every 
quarter  to  the  high  ground  to  their  church,  to  thank 
God  and  to  make  offerings  because  the  city  had  been 
saved  from  so    imminent  a  danger. 

In  the  first  dusk  about  three  hundred  men  dressed 
in  uniform  dress,  and  behind  them  the  world  in  gen- 
eral in  masses,  ^\'ith  torches  and  great  wax  candles, 
came  to  the  house  of  Kanjosh  and  carried  him  in 
a  golden  litter  to  the  Doge's  palace.  There  lauda- 
tions of  Kanjosh  and  rejoicings  lasted  the  whole  night 
through.  The  Doge  and  his  nobles  questioned  him 
about  the  duel  and  about  the  Furlan.  They  looked  at 
him  and  tried  his  sword,  while  he  gave  the  ring  and 
the  broad  sword  of  the  Furlan  to  the  Doge  as  a  gift. 

"Here  are  the  tokens  for  you,  my  liege  Doge,  that 
I  took  from  my  dead  opponent.     May  all  your  en- 


74  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

emies  both  on  sea  and  on  dry  land  perish  as  this  Fur- 
Ian  has  to-day!" 

Thus  Kanjosh  spoke,  and  the  Doge  took  him  by 
both  hands  and  kissed  him  in  the  middle  of  his  fore- 
head. 

The  following  day  at  midday  the  Doge  with  all  the 
nobility  came  to  Saint  Mark's  for  a  thanksgiving,  and 
behind  them  an  immense  multitude  that  stretched 
further  than  the  eye  could  see.  The  church  was  dec- 
orated just  as  it  is  on  the  highest  saints'  days.  They 
allotted  a  place  for  Kanjosh  shut  off  and  high  up,  be- 
side the  Doge,  and  the  church  was  filled  to  overflowing 
with  nobles  pressed  one  upon  another  so  that  they 
could  not  move. 

After  the  religious  service,  the  Doge  with  Kanjosh 
on  his  right  hand,  and  the  nobles  and  his  suite,  set 
forth  to  the  great  chamber  where  the  Doges  were 
given  their  crowns  and  the  emperors  were  received. 
Its  vaulting  was  all  adorned  with  gold,  its  marble 
columns  were  twisted  round  "wdth  golden  thread.  The 
chairs  were  of  velvet  with  pearl  ornamentation,  and 
the  Doge's  throne  was  of  elephant  hide  adorned  with 
lion  skin. 

The  Doge  sat  down  and  from  his  throne  began  to 
speak  Italian.  When  he  had  finished,  one  of  the  nobles 
present  translated  the  Doge's  words  to  Kanjosh  into 
his  own  language — full  of  honey  and  gratitude  they 
were  to  him  and  to  the  community  that  had  sent  him. 


KANJOSH  MACEDONOVICH  75 

"Now,"  said  the  interpreter,  "see  here  we  have 
opened  the  treasiire  of  Saint  Mark,  come  up  and 
take  as  much  as  you  wish  and  what  you  yourself 
ask  for." 

Kanjosh  drew  close  to  a  bronze  coffer  of  three 
locks — a  coffer  full  to  suffocation  of  golden  ducats. 

Kanjosh  looked  at  the  treasure,  smiled,  drew  out 
a  ducat  from  his  purse,  and  threw  it  into  the  coffer. 

''What  are  j'ou  doing?"  cried  the  astounded  in- 
terpreter, and  Kanjosh  replied: — 

**If  you  were  to  take  things  out  of  that  coffer  in- 
stead of  putting  them  in,  the  treasure  would  quickly 
be  finished,  you  would  see  the  bottom  of  it  very 
quickly, ' ' 

Shortly  after  this  the  same  noble  said  to  Kanjosh 
that  the  Doge  would  be  exceedingly  pleased  if  Kan- 
josh would  remain  among  them,  and  that  he  would 
gladly  give  him  his  only  daughter  for  a  wife. 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Kanjosh  "for  such  a  noble 
offer.  In  our  commimity  it  is  an  unbroken  custom 
that  each  one  should  marry  within  his  own  brother- 
hood and  so  we  preserve  the  honor  of  our  sisters." 

"But  you  must  take  some  kind  of  present,"  said 
the  Doge. 

"I  ask,"  said  Kanjosh,  "that  you  should  not  le\'y 
a  tax  upon  us,  nor  take  our  sailors — that  you  adhere 
honorably  to  the  agreement  that  we  ratified  before 
the  surrender,  and  for  a  better  guarantee,  that  the 


76  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

piece  of  shore  in  Venice  beside  the  sea  where  our 
merchandise  is  unloaded  be  called  by  the  name  of 
our  people.  Other  gifts  or  tokens  I  neither  seek  nor 
would  accept." 

The  senate  ordered  that  that  place  always  be 
called  the  Slavonic  Market  "La  Riva  degli  slavoni" 
and  decreed  that  Slavonic  merchandise  brought  there 
should  be  unloaded  and  shipped  without  tax  or  cus- 
tom. These  orders  and  decrees,  however,  lasted  as 
long  as  a  cat's  husband.  The  Venetians  turned  the 
name  of  the  place  to  a  low  and  base  use  "Riva  del 
schiavoni"  (The  seaboard  of  the  slaves)  and  little 
by  little  they  introduced  the  tax  and  began  to  take 
an  impost — paying  no  regard  either  to  the  agreement 
or  to  the  word  that  had  been  given  to  Kanjosh.  For 
this  reason  there  grew  up  a  proverb  among  the  people 
that  is  remembered  even  to-day: — 

"As  they  did,   so  they   prospered." 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH 
By  Zmaj-Jovan  Jovanovich 


77. 


Zmaj-Jovan  Jovanovich  was  born  in  1833  at  Novi 
Sad,  (Bachka)  which  was  formerly  in  Austria-Hun- 
gary and  is  now  a  part  of  the  Kingdom  of  the  Serbs, 
Croats  and  Slovenes.  He  completed  his  course  first  of 
all  at  the  Law  School  and  then  at  the  ]\Iedical  School 
at  Vienna  and  was  a  practicing  physician  during  his 
whole  life,  first  in  his  native  town  and  then  at  Bel- 
grade and  other  places  in  Serbia.  He  was  editor  of 
many  satirical  and  political  journals  of  a  verj'^  liberal 
character  and  he  founded  a  magazine  for  young  peo- 
ple and  became  a  very  popular  poet  among  children. 
He  was  a  member  of  the  Serbian  Royal  Academy. 
He  died  in  1904. 

Jovanovich  was  one  of  the  best  lyric  poets  of  Serbia 
and  wrote  many  volumes  of  satirical,  political  and 
love  poems.  He  translated  the  works  of  some  of  the 
Russian  poets  (Lemiontoff),  and  of  the  Germans 
(Goethe  and  Heine)  and  also  of  the  Americans  (Long- 
fellow), etc. 


78 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  ^ 
By  Zmaj-Jovan  Jovanovich 


It  happened  a  long  time  ago,  what  I  am  going  to  tell 
you,  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Those  who  could  testify  to  it  are  all  dead,  but  a 
murmur  of  it  still  lives  feebly  in  the  neighborhood  of 

P and  in  order  that  it  too  may  not  be  lost  with 

some  old  woman — as  might  very  likely  soon  happen — 
I  am  writing  it  down  here  as  I  remember  once  having 
heard  it  somewhere. 

He  who  comes  for  the  first  time  to  our  beautiful, 
cultivated  Srem,  to  the  beautiful  Frushka  Gora  must 
not  expect  to  find  there  the  Serbian  Alps,  neither  must 
he  expect  the  savage  beauty  of  rocky  heights  such 
as  the  eye  cannot  reach,  nor  fearsome  precipices  where 
the  ray  of  the  sun  cannot  penetrate,  nor  must  he  ex- 
pect there  a  Serbian  JStna  or  Vesuvius  belching  forth 
fire,  lava,  and  stones.  He  will  find  all  that — even 
to  excess — in  Montenegro. 

Here  the  beauty  is  of  another  kind. 

God  created  Frushka  while  he  was  taking  rest. 

Frushka  seems  to  me  like  a  modest  woman,  a  good 

*  The  story  turns  upon  the  curse  which  rests  upon  the  Bran- 
kovich  family.  By  national  tradition  it  was  Vuk  Brnnkovicli 
who  hetrayetl  the  Serbian  army  to  the  Turks  at  Kosaovo  (1.TS9) 
an<l  who  was  therefore  the  cause  of  the  fall  of  the  Serbian 
Empire. 


80  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

mother.  Cultivated,  undulating,  fertile,  vine-cov- 
ered hills  are  as  it  were  her  breasts  for  her  beloved 
children  the  Serbs,  and  the  children  are  grateful,  for 
they  have  adorned  their  mother  with  precious  stones — 
for  are  there  not  fourteen  monasteries,  fourteen 
precious  stones  1 

In  this  cultivated  Srem,  in  this  beautiful  FrusEka 

Gora  beside  the  Danube  lies  the  \dllage  of  P . 

There  we  will  stay  for  a  short  time. 

Let  him  who  will  come  with  me  into  the  chamber, 
but  lightly,  on  tiptoe.  More  softly,  more  softly,  the 
invalid  is  asleep — has  just  closed  his  eyes!  An  an- 
cient, feeble,  blind  old  man  is  praying  tremblingly  to 
God  over  his  sick  daughter.  More  softly !  Let  us  not 
disturb  his  praj^er.  A  fine  young  man  with  crossed 
hands  is  standing  beside  the  bed,  looking  at  the  sick 
girl  as  though  he  were  looking  at  his  Saviour. 

The  blind  feeble   old  man  is  Urosh  Brankovich, 

priest  of  the  village  of  P ,  and  how  the  whole 

neighbourhood,  for  the  last  fifty  years,  has  honoured 
and  loved  him!  There  are  few  people  in  the  village 
whom  he  has  not  christened,  few  couples  whom  he  has 
not  married,  and  all  who  have  gone  to  God  in  the  true 
faith  during  that  time,  father  Urosh  has  absolved  and 
buried. 

A  year  ago  he  was  far  more  fortunate  and  satisfied — 
a  year  ago  he  looked  out  over  the  fair  earth  with  clea/ 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  81 

eyes  and  saw,  and  he  had  something  worth  seeing. 
Five  beloved  sons,  like  five  falcons,  loved  and  served 
him,  and  a  beloved  daughter  Vidosava  unfolded 
amongst  them  like  a  flower  such  as  there  is  not  on  the 
earth. 

He  looked  at  his  good  fortune ;  but  he  did  not  dare 
to  believe  in  it,  for  his  thoughts  often  led  him  to  a 
bloody  field,  to  an  enormous  grave  into  which  thou- 
sands of  Serbian  heroes,  and  their  empire  with  them, 
had  fallen.  He  often  remembered  his  ancestry,  he 
remembered  the  ill-omened  Vuk,  and  then  he  would 
always  heave  a  sigh  and  think: — 

* '  Can  I  really  be  fortunate,  can  a  blessing  fall  upon 
me?  It  is  all  a  deceitful  dream  and  hard  will  it  be 
for  me  when  I  wake ! ' ' 

He  thought  this,  but  he  told  no  one  of  it. 

Time  and  again,  when  he  was  celebrating  the  holy 
service,  he  trembled  before  the  altar,  and  his  throat 
would  contract  as  though  he  were  not  worthy  to  pray 
to  God.  Time  and  again  he  would  glance  at  the  holy 
elements  and,  as  though  he  were  the  greatest  sinner, 
would  hardly  dare  to  receive  them.  And  why? 
Truly  not  even  he  himself  knew. 

There  is  no  blacker  nor  more  fearful  sin  than  to 
betray  one's  people. 

Fearful  is  that  sin,  and  it  falls  upon  the  innocent 
also! 


82  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

lu  the  course  of  one  year,  five  deep  wounds  and 
five  black  illnesses  are  much;  and  to  whom  does  evil 
fortune  give  strength  enough  to  lose  five  fair  sons  in 
a  year,  and  to  return  home  alive  from  five  graves? 

Urosh  Brankov^ch  lost  all  his  five  falcons,  all  his 
five  sons.  He  wept  bitterly  for  the  fourth,  but  his 
tears  wiped  the  fair  earth  from  his  eyes.  His  four 
black  graves  drew  four  black  veils  over  his  eyes — 
over  the  four  dark  graves.  He  could  not  see  the  fifth 
— for  the  fifth  son  the  fond  father  could  not  even 
weep.  Where  could  he  have  found  tears?  Their 
source  had  dried  up,  and  what  else  could  the  eyes 
have  done  after  weeping  for  four  sons? 

Ill  fortune,  when  she  runs,  does  not  know  what  is 
enough. 

When  they  had  buried  the  fifth  son  of  Brankovich 
and  were  returning  home,  Vidosava  led  her  father  by 
the  hand.  The  rain  was  pouring  out  of  the  sky,  out  of 
the  earth.  Their  way  led  them  across  a  stream  which 
was  so  rapid  after  the  great  rain  that  it  bore  rocks 
and  blocks  of  wood  along  with  it.  Now  it  had  become 
a  regular  torrent.  The  water  had  already  begun 
slowly  to  lift  the  little  bridge  that  went  over  the 
stream  and  Vidosava,  intending,  as  many  had  already 
crossed,  to  see  whether  she  and  her  father  could  still 
cross  to  the  other  side,  stepped  on  to  the  bridge. 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  83 

There  is  no  blacker  nor  more  fearful  mi  than  io 
betray  one's  people. 

Fearful  is  that  sin,  and  it  falls  upon  the  innocent 
also! 

Old  Urosh  called  out: — 

"My  daughter,  my  only  help,  where  are  you? 
Where  are  you,  unhappy  Vida?" 

But  the  water  had  already  swept  Vida  away — ^the 
torrent  carried  her  along — it  carried  her  with  force 
and  the  waves  had  swallowed  her  up.  Vida  had  gone 
after  her  brothers. 

Die,  old  man  Urosh ! 

Be  satisfied  now,  henvy  curse ! 

Urosh,  half  dead,  fell  to  the  ground.  He  did  not 
know  when  or  how  he  was  carried  to  his  house ;  how 
he  was  put  on  his  bed,  or  how  long  he  lay  there.  When 
he  had  regained  consciousness  a  little,  there  was  va- 
cancy in  his  breast,  so  that  there  was  no  longer  illness 
or  grief  there.     He  only  whispered  now  and  then: — 

"Take  me,  God,  take  me." 

The  torrent  had  bom  Vidosava  away,  the  waves  had 
swallowed  her  up ;  but  it  was  not  her  lot  to  find  peace 
so  quickly. 

It  is  easy  to  die  in  misfortune.  Then  death  is  be- 
loved and  precious;  it  is  easy,  sweet.  But  it  is  sad  to 
stretch  out  the  hands  to  cold  death  from  a  rosy  life, 
from  the  wing  of  fortune. 


84  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

As  soon  as  Vida  lost  courage  in  the  waves,  she  let 
her  arms  drop  and  gave  herself  up  to  cool  death.  Al- 
ready consciousness  of  life  had  gone,  already  her 
tender  heart  had  beat  its  last  painful  throbs,  when 
powerful  hands  seized  her  round  the  waist,  raised  her, 
and  gave  her  again  to  life. 

The  young  Stevan  Brovich  of  a  neighouring  village 
was  the  glory  of  the  youth  of  the  neighbourhood,  a 
young  man  without  an  equal,  full  of  life,  full  of  heart, 
love  and  proud  heroism,  and  brave  as  only  a  Serb  can 
be.  The  young  Stevan  Brovich  happened  to  be  near 
when  the  water  carried  Vida  away.  He  flew  to  the 
stream  and,  as  though  he  were  at  a  dance,  he  sprang 
to  danger,  to  practically  certain  death. 

Anyone  looking  on  might  have  said  two  or  three 
paternosters  without  knowing  whether  he  was  saying 
them  for  the  preservation  of  Stevan  and  Vidosava,  or 
for  the  repose  of  their  souls. 

Good  fortune,  however,  came  quickly,  and  the 
young  man  with  the  girl  issued  forth  onto  dry  land. 

In  the  pure  air  Vidosava  recovered  herself  a  little, 
and  then  with  a  wonderful,  golden,  heavenly  glance, 
she  looked  at  her  deliverer.  In  this  glance  there  was 
more  sorrow  than  satisfaction.  Stevan  could  never 
have  desired  a  greater  recompense  and  Vida's  heart 
never  troubled  nor  contracted.  Both  breathed  si- 
lently. Feebleness,  however,  overcame  the  girl 
again,  and  she  fell  unconscious  into  Stevan 's  arms. 


\ 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  85 

So  they  carried  her  home  and  put  her  on  her  bed, 
to  tend  her  like  the  apple  of  their  eyes,  to  treat  her 
with  every  earthly  and  heavenly  remedy,  so  that  such 
a  flower  should  not  wither  nor  perish — a  flower  en- 
shrined in  the  hearts  of  many,  and  which  every  ac- 
quaintance loved  like  his  own  soul. 

This  was  the  room  into  which  we  cam©  before  the 
beginning  of  the  story,  in  which  Vidosava  had  already 
been  lying  ill  for  two  or  three  days. 

The  windows  were  covered  so  that  the  sun  hardly 
penetrated  through  the  green  curtains.  A  holy  quiet 
reigned  in  the  room — ^you  only  heard  Vida's  laboured 
breathing.  On  the  table  wild  thyme,  lovage  and  other 
flowers,  smelling  sweetly,  responded  to  her  breathing, 
and  responding  to  her  breathing,  smelt  sweetly — as 
though  they  too  were  praying  softly  from  their  hearts 
for  the  sick  girl. 

These  are  mighty  and  chosen  medicines — ^the 
father's  prayer,  deep  and  holy, — and  Stevan's  long- 
ings, heart-felt,  powerful  and  full  of  hope. 

Which  will  help  Vida  first,  which  will  reach  God 
first,  which  remedy  will  be  the  first  to  bring  Vida 
back  to  health? 

If  only  there  were  not  on  the  earth  heavy  curses 
that  fall  upon  the  innocent  as  well  as  upon  the 
guilty! 


86  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

II 

From  that  time  Stevan  was  much  changed.  It  was  as 
though  he  had  saved  his  good  fortune  from  the  water, 
he  was  so  cheerful  in  his  heart ;  or  he  only  felt,  per- 
haps, that  he  would  be  full  of  joy  if  Vida  were  soon 
restored  to  health.  That  she  should  look  at  him  again 
with  those  eyes! — That  glance  for  the  sake  of  which 
he  would  ever  be  ready  to  spring  to  death. 

The  days  passed  by,  and  still  Vidosava  was  ill. 
A  very  heavy  fever  burned  through  her  blood,  it 
carved  many  coloured  pictures  before  her  closed  eyes, 
and  played  violently  with  her  spirit  and  with  her 
imagination,  so  that  it  was  sad,  and  sometimes  even 
fearsome,  to  listen  to  her  sufferings. 

Every  morning  at  dawn  Stevan  came  from  his  vil- 
lage to  P ,  and  on  his  way  he  would  pick  the 

flowers  of  every  kind,  violet,  blue,  and  white,  that 
went  so  well  beside  the  burning  face  of  the  sick  girl. 

Today  Stevan  came  very  early;  but  again  he  found 
the  old  father  on  his  feet — full  of  attention  to  his 
beloved  daughter. 

"Honoured  father,"  said  Stevan,  kissing  the  grey 
old  man's  hand,"  last  night  I  did  not  shut  my  eyes, 
I  had  no  sleep.  I  am  more  ill  than  that  dear  invalid. 
See,  I  have  come  to  you  before  dawn.  You  will  not 
cure  me,  but  it  will  be  much  easier  for  me  if  you  will 
hear  me  out." 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  87 

"Speak,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man.  "Who  should 
I  hear  if  I  do  not  hear  you.  I  have  you  now  in  place 
of  all  my  five  sons.  God  sent  you  to  save  my  darling 
for  me." 

"Kind  father,  I  am  not  a  spoilt  stranger  full  of 
tears  and  sighs.  It  must  be  a  powerful  sickness  that 
makes  me  complain;  but  I  am  going  to  groan  like  a 
coward.  I  am  a  Serb  by  up-bringing  and  by  edu- 
cation— taught  not  to  give  in  to  my  heart  however 
much  it  drives,  or  however  much  it  burns  "^^nth  desire ; 
but  ever  since  the  time  when  I  sprang  to  death  and 
was  saved  from  the  open  grave  with  Vidosava,  I  have 
not  been  myself,  I  hardly  know  myself.  I  can  no 
longer  control  my  heart.  It  has  become  strong,  pow- 
erful, and  headstrong,  and  I  have  become  feeble,  small, 
— nothing  but,  as  it  were,  my  heart's  shadow  that 
must  go  after  it.  I  can  no  longer  command  any  one 
desire  or  any  one  thought  but  that  she  should  be  mine. 
My  heart  is  all  Vida's,  it  is  in  her  service  and  serves 
her.  When  I  first  looked  into  her  heart  I  understood 
her  spirit.  From  that  moment  onwards  I  saw  that 
without  that  heart,  viathout  that  spirit,  without  those 
eyes,  without  Vidosava,  I  could  not  live.  It  is  easier 
for  me  now  that  T  have  told  you  a  little.  Vidosava 
will  get  well,  it  cannot  be  otherwise  as  God  lives  and 
is  merciful.  Then  father, — is  it  not  so,  father? — 
then  Vidosava  will  bo  mine  for  eternity." 

While  Stevan  was  speaking  these  words  Vidosava 


88  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

now  and  again  sighed,  and  the  old  priest  shook  his 
head  two  or  three  times,  and  now  a  dark  cloud  came 
upon  his  forehead.  lie  thought  deeply,  and  in  his 
blind  eyes  there  glistened  two  pure  drops. 

Stevan,  amazed  at  these  disagreeable  and  baneful 
signs,  looked  impatiently  to  see  when  and  what  father 
Urosh  would  decide. 

He  waited  for  a  long  time,  shivering  with  appre- 
hension, until  he  heard  these  words  from  the  old 
man: — 

"My  son,  where  are  you?  Sit  down  beside  me.  If 
I  cannot  see  you,  I  can  at  least  embrace  you.  There ! 
There!  You  are  very  dear  to  me  and  I  must  grieve 
you  exceedingly.  How  fortunate  it  would  be  if  the 
blessing  of  God  were  to  fall  upon  jou,  how  fortunate 
if  you  had  been  created  one  for  the  other!  Who 
would  desire  it  as  much  as  I !  But  listen  to  me,  and 
then  judge,  and  think  over,  and  consider,  what  you 
have  heard,  and  what  you  can  do. 

"My  name  is  Urosh  Brankovich.  I  am  a  Serb  in 
body  and  in  spirit,  and  my  origin  has  always  caused 
me  unhappiness,  has  always  hurt  me;  but  I  have  al- 
ways comforted  myself  with  tliinking  that  Vuk's  sin 
was  not  my  sin,  and  I  have  tried  with  all  my  power 
to  wash  the  disgrace  from  his  family.  All  my  five 
sons  I  adjured  to  live  for  nothing  but  their  race ;  and 
if  they  felt  in  themselves  any  drops  of  Vuk's  blood, 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  89 

to  put  the  fiercest  serpent  to  their  hearts  to  suck  out 
that  poison  from  them. 

"  'To  love  your  people,  that  is  everything  for  a 
Serb,'  I  said  to  them, 

'*  'Tread  fortune,  tread  salvation  under  your  feet, 
if  they  do  not  accord  with  this.' 

''My  sons  obeyed  me.  Would  that  they  were  alive! 
With  them  my  face  would  never  have  become  dark- 
ened. 

"On  Vidov's  day — my  darling  Vidosava  was  born 
at  the  very  moment  her  mother  died.  We  received 
her  into  black  swathing  bands.  She  came  into  the 
world  to  lose  her  mother.  Wonderfully  was  the  child 
bom,  and  wonderful  she  always  was.  At  four  years 
old  she  knew  more  than  another  child  of  eight.  She 
never  cried  until  she  saw  the  picture  of  Vuk  Branko- 
vich  that  had  been  in  our  hands  from  ancient  times. 
Then  she  shrieked  as  though  she  were  in  the  heat  of 
a  furnace. 

"Later,  I  do  not  know  where,  she  learnt  that  sad 
poem  of  Kossovo,  of  the  betrayal.  She  would  sing 
that  poem  perpetually  with  a  sorrowful  voice,  and  her 
face  steadily  became  more  pale. 

"Her  gracious  smile  did  not  dare  to  play  upon  her 
beautiful  little  lips,  her  fine  eyes  sometimes  were  still, 
then  clouded  and  suffused  with  tears,  as  though  she 
were  reaching  out  into  the  sad  past  or  into  the  future. 
If  anyone  asked  her: — 


90  .TUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"  'What  is  it,  Vida — in  God's  name!'  She  would 
answer  solemnly  but  shortly: — 

"  'The  curse.' 

"A  year  ago,  Milan,  my  eldest  son,  wooed  a  ^irl  and 
came  happily  to  the  house.  Vida  went  out  to  meet 
him. 

"  '0  my  imhappy  brother,  are  you  really  happy? 
How  can  a  Brankovich  be  happy.  Milan,  Milan, 
there  is  no  blacker  sin  than  to  betray  one's  people. 
Milan,  Milan,  the  curse  is  heavy— the  curse  that  falls 
upon  the  innocent  also.' 

"She  said  this,  and  kissed  liim,  just  as  one  kisses 
the  dead. 

''That  very  day  Milan  fell  ill.  The  se<^;ond  day  he 
died. 

"Shortly  after  this  she  sprang  up  from  sleep  calling 
out: — 

"  'Vlajko,  brother  Vlajko,  where  is  my  Vlajko? 
Heavy  is  the  sin  that  falls  upon  the  innocent  also!' 

"That  spring  Vlajko 's  bay  horse  came  into  the 
courtyard  without  Vlajko;  and  Vlajko,  out  hunting, 
had  fallen  head  foremost,  and  had  remained  dead 
at  the  place  where  he  had  fallen. 

"In  the  same  way  she  foretold  or  anticipated  the 
deaths  of  Mirko  and  Radmilo. 

"From  that  time  onwards  I  looked  upon  her  as 
some  kind  of  mysterious  person.  I  believed  whatever 
she  said,  even  though  it  were  most  fearful. 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  91 

"I  often  said  to  her — 'Do  not  speak,  do  not  an- 
ticipate, if  you  know  G-od.  I  love  you  as  I  love  the 
memory  of  my  four  sons — more  than  life,  than  my 
soul;  but  it  is  a  heavy  sorrow  to  hear  such  tidings 
from  one  I  love  so  much.' 

"At  this  she  would  say  to  me: — 

*'  'You  love  me,  you  are  fond  of  me?  It  is  hard 
for  whoever  cares  for  me  and  for  whoevei-  falls  in 
love  with  me.  I  am  of  evil  fortune.  Fearful  is  the 
sin  that  falls  upon  the  innocent  also ! ' 

"Then  she  would  look  into  my  eyes  and  would 
say : — 

"  'Now  the  yoimg  Djordje  and  Jovan  Brankovich 
perpetually  appear  to  me  with  vacant  holes  where 
their  fair  eyes  had  been.  Behind  them,  see !  Another 
Djordje,  Grgnrn  Brankovich  all  blind  with  bloody 
eyelids!  My  father,  my  father,  and  you  too  are  a 
Brankovich ! ' 

"When  I  heard  that  I  trembled,  but  it  was  in  vain, 
and  shortly  afterwards  eternal  darkness  fell  upon  the 
pupils  of  my  eyes. 

"One  morning  my  last  son  Damjan  came  to  me  and 
kissed  my  hand. 

"  'Beloved  father,'  he  said  to  me,  'My  days  too  are 
numbered.  Last  night  I  heard  her  weeping  terribly 
in  her  sleep  and  two  or  three  times  she  called  my 
name.     Father  save  me ! ' 

"  'Who  will  save  you  if  (lod  will  not  forgive,'  I 


92  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

said.  'My  Damjan  it  will  not  be  good  fortune.' — 
See  now  what  kind  of  good  it  has  been !  All  my  five 
sons,  one  beside  the  other,  are  in  the  earth,  in  the 
grave.  They  have  taken  away  my  house  from  me, 
my  bed." 

The  old  man  was  silent. 

And  Stevan?  The  old  man's  words  stupefied  him 
and  cast  him  into  a  sea  of  deep  thoughts.  He  quickly 
pulled  himself  back,  however,  and  recovered  himself; 
and  then  he  felt  nothing  but  how  strongly  he  loved 
Vidosava.  He  felt  that  whether  the  sick  girl  meant 
good  or  evil  fortime  for  him,  nothing  could  separate 
him  from  her. 

"As  you  love  me,  old  Brankovich,  I  have  been  with 
you  in  the  prison  of  Eger  for  twenty-two  years  and 
you  have  never  kissed  me — you  have  had  no  time! 
Up  to  the  present  we  have  reckoned  the  unfortunate 
ones  of  the  Brankovich  family  and  have  we  reckoned 
them  all?  No — we  have  not  yet.  But  let  us  leave 
it.  We  have  nearly  come  to  the  end — But  quickly! 
Kiss  me  once.  It  falls  sweetly.  It  is  sweet !  Quick ! 
Quick! 

Stevan  bent  down  to  kiss  the  girl's  outstretched 
hand.  At  that  moment  Vida  opened  her  eyes  and 
called  out  wildly: — 

"You  are  not  a  Brankovich!  Do  not  pull  me  out 
of  the  water !  Leave  me  to  death !  Leave  me,  leave 
me,  and  may  good  fortune  be  yours!" 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  93 

After  this  slio  again  closed  her  eyes,  sighed,  and 
sobbed. 

Through  her  sobs  now  and  again  could  be  dis- 
tinguished : — 

.  to  betray  one's  people 
Fearful  is  that  sin,  and  it  falls  upon  the  innocent  also! 


III. 


The  flowers  were  half  withered,  the  golden  leaves 
had  fallen.  It  was  a  death  bed  on  which  summer  had 
just  breathed  her  last. 

The  sun  was  glimmering  feebly,  then  slowly  it  be- 
came enveloped  in  mist. 

The  birds  still  sang  a  little,  but  it  was  not  like  the 
happy  chirping  that  one  hears  in  May.  In  every 
sound  there  was  a  note  of  ** goodbye"  and  through 
every  "goodbye"  trembled  a  sorrowful  "alas." 

A  cold  wind  rustled  the  countless  grey  leaves.  This 
was  the  throne  on  which  the  new  ruler — Autumn,  the 
mournful  queen,  sat  and  slept. 

They  had  already  gathered  the  vintage  in 
Frushka  Gora  and  the  vintage  songs  were  silent,  and 
the  great  resounding  clappers  no  longer  made  a  sound, 
but  lay  quietly  somewhere  behind  the  stove.  In  place 
of  their  sound  the  wind  bore  only  the  whistling  of  the 
yellow  leaves  and  the  heavy  breaking  of  dry  branches. 


94  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

It  was  only  the  stream  that  had  not  forgotten  its 
murmuring  and  still  sang  its  song  with  the  same  voice. 
But  how  different  it  is  to  listen  to  its  song  accompanied 
by  the  song  of  the  nightingale  and  the  smell  of  the 
violet  on  the  green  flowery  meadow,  from  what  it  is 
now;  when,  left  alone,  it  sings  because  sing  it  must; 
but  it  would  be  better  to  say  it  weeps  for  its  beloved 
companions  who  have  vanished. 

Round  the  house  of  old  Brankovich  spread  a  large 
garden.  Beauty  at  one  time  had  walked  through  it, 
while  there  appeared  on  ever}^  bed,  on  every  bush  and 
on  every  branch  a  delicate  hand  that  tended  it  all. 
Now  all  the  paths  were  overgrown,  the  beds  unweeded. 
Disorder  grew  and  trampled  down  all  that  pains  and 
good  will  had  formerly  beautified. 

There  walked  Vidosava  in  black  clothing.  It  ap- 
peared on  her  face  that  she  had  been  seriously  ill,  but 
that  charming  beauty  of  hers,  steeped  in  pallour,  al- 
ways gave  one  the  impression  of  looking  at  moonlight. 

The  time  was  mournful  and  ill-omened,  but 
Vida  steadily  became  happier.  She  wept  for  her 
brothers :  but  a  certain  belief  that  the  loss  of  them  w^as 
inevitable  softened  the  bitterness  of  her  tears,  and 
gave  strength  to  her  tender  heart.  That  prophetic 
spirit,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  that  had  troubled  the  beau- 
tiful child  was  dead — had  vanished.  But  in  addition 
to  this  her  sweetness  had  grown,  and  Vidosava  stead- 
ily became  a  true  girl,  such  as  she  ought  to  have  been. 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  95 

But  can  a  girl  be  without  love? 

As  a  violet  must  smell  sweet,  so  a  heart  must  sigh. 

The  violet  itself  does  not  know  that  it  smells  sweet. 

And  why  did  Vidosava  sigh  now?  She  sighed  be- 
cause everj'thing  had  turned  out  so  sweetly  for  her. 
She  sighed,  but  she  herself  did  not  know  why. 

Stevan,  who  came  to  visit  old  Urosh  almost  every 
day,  had  just  dismounted.  He  walked  through  the 
garden  with  Vidosava,  with  her  he  spoke  of  every 
kind  of  beauty  and  grace,  with  her  he  sat  on  a  marble 
bench  looking  at  the  red  clouds  round  the  sun,  calling 
her  "little  sister." 

Vida  did  not  believe  that  she  had  the  right  to  love 
Stevan.  Some  pitiless  spirit  still  whispered  to  her : — 
' '  Send  this  young  man  away  from  you.  It  would  be 
a  shame  that  he  sliould  fall  under  the  curse ! ' ' 

But  something  stirred  in  her  heart — it  was  so  sweet 
and  so  heavy — .     It  was  difficult! 

Already  there  appeared  in  the  distance  a  cloud  of 
dust  that  the  fierce  black  horse  of  Stevan  had  raised. 
Vidosava  looked  in  that  direction  and  sighed  involun- 
tarily. Afterwards,  if  you  had  happened  to  be  close 
at  hand,  you  would  have  heard  a  charming  but  mourn- 
ful voice  and  the  mournful  song : — 

"Whether  they  are  griefs,  or  whether  they  are 
sorrows, 

Griefs  are  worse  than  sorrows. 

Neighbours  will  come  for  sorrows 


96  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

But  no  one  knows  about  griefs 

Save  the  heart  in  which  are  the  griefs." 

How  steadily  he  became  sweeter  and  more  beloved 
every  day! 

Love  grew,  and  why  could  not  good  fortune  grow 
beside  it? 

It  was  a  blessing  for  old  Urosh  that  in  his  blindness 
he  saw  something  that  he  had  never  been  able  to  see 
with  his  eyes.  He  saw  that  every  day  his  daughter 
was  more  happy  and  more  cheerful. 

** Something  smells  sweet  here,"  said  Urosh  one 
evening  when  Stevan  and  Vidosava  had  led  him 
through  the  garden. 

"It  is  that  great  bush  of  rosemary,"  responded 
Vidosava. 

* '  And  there  must  also  be  a  seat  of  turf.  Let  us  sit 
down,  children,  and  smell  that  beautiful  scent.  Isn't 
it  beautiful,  Stevan,  and  what  do  you  say,  my  Vido- 
sava?" 

Rosemary  was  a  fortunate  symbol.  It  guided  their 
thoughts  and  guided  their  words,  and  they  spoke  of 
earthly  joys,  of  love,  and  of  faithfulness. 

All  three  were  suddenly  constrained.  They  grew 
silent,  lost  in  thought. 

Only  one  word,  and  all  three  hearts  would  imme- 
diately become  happier. 

The  old  man,  however,  did  not  intend  to  begin,  and 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  97 

Stevan's  throat  was  contracted.  Yidosova  sat  beside 
the  old  man,  and  sometimes  looked  at  her  father's 
face,  sometimes  at  the  war  of  thought  and  annulling 
of  desire  on  the  face  of  the  young-  man.  She  did  not 
know  in  the  least  what  to  think,  and  trembled  like 
a  reed,  fearing  the  first  word  that  should  be  spoken. 

Lost  in  thought  the  old  man  took  hold  of  Stevan's 
hand  just  exactly  at  the  place  where  there  was  a  gold 
ring  on  his  finger. 

"What  kind  of  a  ring  is  that,  Stevan?" 

**My  mother  gave  it  to  me  on  her  death  bed  and 
made  me  promise  that  one  day  I  would  put  it  on  the 
finger  of  my  betrothed.  And — in  God's  name,    .   .    " 

At  these  words  Stevan  burned  like  living  fire,  and 
the  pale  girl  became  even  more  pale,  like  the  most 
beautiful  white  rose. 

"And  in  God's  name  I  will  either  wear  the  ring 
myself  until  the  grave,  or  you  will  take  it,  Vida." 

Oh  fortune,  how  golden  you  are,  and  love,  you  have 
been  beautifully  prepared.  By  these  moments  you 
have  overweighed  all  the  misfortune  and  evil  that 
attack  a  man! 

The  rosemary  smelt  sweet,  how  beautifully,  how 
strongly,  how  tenderly! 

The  sun  sank  down  reflected  in  the  sweet  tears  of 
blind  Urosh  and  in  the  ring  on  Vidosava's  hand. 

When  the  happy  ones  separated,  each  one  was  cal- 


98  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

culating  within  himself  how  many  days  there  were 
until  that  famous  Saint  George's  Day. 


IV 

"Wliat  preparations  were  made  for  that  famous 
Saint  George's  Day?  How  did  Stevan  and  Vidosava 
pass  the  time? 

Wild  winter  had  come, — those  hard  frosts,  snow 
storms,  and  falls  of  snow  had  come, — and  those  cold 
winds. 

This  was  not  winter,  neither  were  they  frosts  nor 
winds !     It  was  not  fierce,  or  hard,  or  cold,  or  frosty ! 

To  our  betrothed  pair  it  was  as  though  rosy  snow 
had  fallen,  as  though  a  little  rose  had  been  torn  up 
in  the  sky.  Frost  does  not  freeze  warm  love,  and  the 
winds  brought  it  that  beautiful  peace  that  nothing  else 
feels — ^brought  it  from  somewhere,  God  knows  where, 
the  sweet  smell  of  rosemary,  the  flower  so  dear  to 
them. 

Then  those  winter  evenings! 

Quiet  jo3%  peaceful  happinesa,  full  satisfaction ! 
When  Bozana,  Vida's  old  nurse,  sat  near  the  stove 
and  began  those  old  stories,  so  that  trembling  seizes 
you,  your  hair  clings  together,  your  heart  burns,  and 
your  tears  flow.  If  she  stops  for  a  little  you  hear  her 
spindle  buzzing,  just  as  a  guslar  breaks  off  his  song 
at  the  most  beautiful  places — to  play  what  cannot  be 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  99 

sung,  because  it  can  only  be  felt.  On  the  plain  the 
gun  is  fired,  the  horse  neighs,  the  greyhound  gives 
short  barks.  Here  is  Stevan  from  the  hunt — just  as 
though  he  had  come  alive  out  of  the  old  story : — 

"God  help  you,  my  fortune! — "  and  the  candle 
dances  and  trembles — and  old  Urosh  's  tears  overflow. 

How  was  it  with  Vidosava,  with  the  beautiful  be- 
trothed ?  Many  of  my  readers  will  know  better  than 
I  can  express  it. 

When  he  came  to  the  house  and  Vidosava  received 
him,  he  would  whisper  to  her,  almost  ashamed,  "How 
many  days  are  there  still  before  Saint  George's  Day"?" 

Very  little  happened  until  Saint  George 's  Day.  The 
winter  passed  as  in  a  dream. 

The  flowers  and  leaves  burst  forth  ever  more  beau- 
tifully, and  the  voices  of  nightingales  came  ever 
sweeter  and  sweeter;  but  more  beautiful  than  their 
voices  was  what  the  day  brought  to  Vidosava: — 

"My  I>arling! 

"You  know  how  much  I  love  you;  but  it  is  sweet 
to  me  to  speak  of  it.  You  are  my  world,  my  life,  my 
all.  The  day  after  tomorrow  will  dawn,  the  day 
when  you  will  not  Ijlush  to  sanctify  your  love  before 
the  altar,  and  to  give  yourself  to  me  before  God  and 
the  world.  Tomorrow  will  bring  the  wedding  guests 
to  you.  The  wedding  guests  have  been  chosen,  every- 
thing is  fitting.  hap[>y  and  worthy. 


\ 


100  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Be  happy  and  rejoice,  my  bride, 
*'Your  true  Stevan." 

Do  you  Imow  that  beautiful  flower  on  whose  slender 
green  stalk  hang  delicate  pale  little  green  cups?  The 
cups  when  they  are  overturned  pour  forth  a  beautiful 
scent,  and  the  scent  pours  forth  like  a  river,  and  over 
it,  it  is  as  though  invisible  vilas  were  floating  and 
singing:— 

* '  Georgica,  where  thou  art  sown, 

There  thou  art  plucked. 

It  is  beautiful,  it  is  holy,  it  is  wonderful, 

Saint  George's  Day." 

The  Lily  of  the  Valley  is  the  flower,  and  Bozana 
entwined  it  in  Vidosava's  hair,  and  how  beautifully 
it  went  with  that  luxuriant,  silken  hair.  And  the  old 
nurse  spoke  to  her: — 

"There,  there,  my  pigeon.  Now  you  are  adorned 
like  that  maiden  of  flowers  about  whom  I  am  always 
telling  you,  whom  seven  emperors  sought.  But  why 
are  you  so  mournful  when  you  should  be  most  full  of 
joy?" 

"Dear  nurse,  I  must  tell  you  a  strange  and  dis- 
quieting dream  I  dreamt,  I  was  dressed  just  as  I 
am  now,  and  I  was  walking  across  the  room,  when 
a  stem  voice  called  to  me  to  stop.     I  looked  up  and 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  101 

saw  that  I  was  standing  exactly  under  the  picture  of 
our  unfortunate  ancestor.  I  was  quite  trembling  and 
he  raised  his  hand,  took  hold  of  the  frame  and  slowly 
came  out  of  it, — and  the  place  he  left  empty  was  red 
like  blood.     "When  he  came  to  me  he  said : — 

'*  'My  daughter,  you  are  a  bride.  There — let  me 
bless  you,  and  give  you  a  present.'  Then  he  made  a 
movement  behind  my  precious  ring  and  took  it  from 
my  finger. 

"  'This  diamond,'  he  said,  'I  will  take  away,  it 
looks  like  a  crystalized  tear.  Here  is  a  more  beautiful 
stone  for  you,  this  ruby  which  is  a  drop  of  Serbian 
blood  from  the  field  of  Kossovo.  I  will  put  it  into 
your  ring  for  you.  It  will  last  better  and  there  shall 
be  blessing  in  it  for  you ! ' 

"After  this  he  was  returned  to  his  place  and  be- 
came again  the  same  old  picture  as  he  has  always 
been.  Sweet  nurse  I  still  tremble  if  I  remember  it 
vividly,  and  I  dare  not  say  a  word  to  my  father." 

And  Vidosava  was  all  trembling  and,  as  before, 
there  appeared  again  in  her  heart,  written  in  black, 
the  words : — 

There  is  no  blacker  nor  more  fearful  sin  than  to 
betray  one's  people. 

Fearful  is  that  sin,  and  it  falls  upon  the  innocent 
also! 


102  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

V 
"The  swaying  branch  broke  off."* 

The  fierce  horses  are  already  girthed — white,  black, 
and  grey,  and  they  are  not  quiet  but  are  kicking  with 
their  feet.  On  them  the  fine  white  trappings  are 
vibrating. 

Quick  let  us  get  on  our  way! 

Quick  let  us  get  on  our  way! 

But  still  the  dance  cannot  be  broken  up — the  dance 
that  had,  as  it  were,  groAVTi  out  of  their  happines.s — 
and  how  can  Vidosava  turn  her  back  upon  her  dear 
father ! 

There  were  tears — they  were  never  bitter.  There 
were  blessings,  and  may  God  accept  them. 

But  the  happy,  frolicsome  wedding  guests  cared 
nothing  for  this  and  made  themselves  ready,  sing- 
ing :— 

"Do  not  weep,  fair  Vida,  for  the  time  has  come. 
It  was  not  in  your  court  that  the  sweetness  was 

bom, 
But  it  was  in  ours  that  the  sweetness  was  born — 

Hero  Stevan." 

So  they  whipped  up  the  four  white  horses  on  which 
*  A  line  of  a  popular  song. 


VIDOSAVA  BRANKOVICH  103 

were  Vidosava  with  the  chief  wedding  guest,  and  the 
other  wedding  guests  behind  them.  There  arose  a 
cry,  a  tumult  such  as  there  had  never  been.  After  a 
single  moment  not  even  dust  could  be  seen,  because 
Serbian  wedding  guests  do  not  go  upon  the  ground, 
but  %. 

Vacancy  and  quiet  remained  round  the  old  man 
Urosh. 

The  whole  time  the  path  led  the  wedding  guests 
beside  the  Danube.  On  one  side  were  high  mountains 
and  vineyards,  and  on  the  other  side  rocks  which  the 
cold  Danube  washed. 

Vidosava  was  as  pale  as  though  now  her  dream  of 
the  night  before  were  founded  on  fact. 

The  sun  was  nearly  in  the  west,  and  its  beautiful 
rays  played  among  the  standards  and  plumes,  and 
gilded  the  guns  and  arms,  and  when  it  fell  upon  the 
precious  stone  in  Vidosava 's  ring,  every  kind  of  col- 
our burst  forth  in  it.  Now  it  would  be  like  the  blue 
of  the  upper  part  of  the  sky  such  as  only  angels  see : 
now  like  violets  such  as  there  are  not  in  the  world : 
now  like  an  orange,  such  as  only  a  thirsty  Persian 
woman,  sleeping  on  the  lap  of  her  lover  could  dream 
of.  Sometimes,  again,  red,  rosy,  exactly  like  that 
blood  spilt  on  Kossovo. 

It  was  at  just  such  a  moment  that  Vidosava  looked 
at  her  ring. 

She  cried  out  like  an  angry  serpent  in  a  cleft; — 


104  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Blood,  mighty  blood.     ...     it  is.     ...     " 

And  the  unhappy  girl  let  her  head  fall  upon  the 
chief  wedding  guest.  The  chief  wedding  guest  sprang 
down  to  stop  tlie  horses — as  though  anyone  could  stop 
horses  at  their  highest  speed.  The  horses  began  to 
wince  and  to  jump  aside. 

At  that  very  moment  fierce  Turkish  officials  came 
up,  firing  the  charges  from  their  pistols.  No  more 
was  necessary. 

The  Danube  echoed  as  though  thunder  had  con- 
vulsed it.  The  maddened  horses  bore  the  unfortu- 
nate bride  into  a  cold  grave. 

All  this  took  place  in  one  moment. 

The  wedding  guests  were  petrified.  A  shudder 
went  through  their  hearts;  but  by  this  time  Stevan 
was  already  in  the  Danube,  having  sprung  to  death 
to  bear  life  and  fortune  out  of  it  as  was  evilly  fore- 
told. 

The  water  east  out  both  of  them. 

Still  only  one  embrace — but  what  warmth  in  it. 
Still  just  one  whisper,  but  it  was  laboured  and  fear- 
ful because  it  was  spoken  in  the  lap  of  death. 

"Did  I  not  say,  Stevan?  Indeed  I  did — that  the 
curse  was  heavy.     But  forgive  me!" 

Already  twenty  swimmers  were  swimming  swiftly 
to  drag  them  out  and  save  them,  but  what  can  a  man 
do  against  heavy  curses,  against  the  ordinance  of 
God? 


VIDOSAVA  BKANKOVICH  105 

Stevan  and  Vidosava  lie  deep  in  the  Danube  in 
their  embrace,  and  their  souls  deserve  to  be  happier 
in  that  place  where  old  Urosh  came  soon  after  them. 

I  had  already  entirely  forgotten  this  story  just  as 
though  I  had  never  heard  it;  but  some  years  ago  I 
was  in  Novi  Sad  at  a  funeral.  The  dead  man  was  a 
count ;  but  he  died  without  a  single  relation,  a  blind, 
poor  man — quite  blind — and  he  was  called  Branko- 
vich.     That  was  perhaps  the  last  branch  of  the  family. 

Then  I  remembered — and  it  was  as  though  I  heard 
Vidosava 's  voice  speaking  sorrowfully  to  a  mighty 
people  gathered  together: — 

''There  is  no  hlacker  sin  than  to  tetray  one's 
people. 

Fearful  is  that  sin,  and  it  falls  upon  the  innocent 
oLsoI" 


THE  FIRST  FURROW 
By  Milovan  Glisich 


107 


MiLOVAN  Glisich  Tfos  bom  in  1847  at  Valjevo, 
Serbia.  He  took  the  philosophical  course  at  the 
University  of  Belgrade  and  became  editor  of  the 
Journal  Officiel  there  and  later  on  Assistant  Director 
of  the  National  Theatre  in  the  same  city.  He  died  in 
1908.  Glisich  translated  a  number  of  Eussian  and 
French  novels  by  Gogol,  Tolstoy  and  Merimee  and 
many  plays,  principally  French  comedies.  He  also 
wrote  two  comedies  which  are  the  most  popular  plays 
in  the  repertoire  of  every  Serbian  theatre.  He  was 
the  author  of  a  number  of  stories,  mostly  humorous 
ones. 


108 


THE  FIRST  FURROW 
By  Milovan  Glisich 


At  the  end  of  the  village  of  Vellica  Vrbniea,  high 
up  near  the  mountain  of  Vratana,  there  can  be  seen 
from  Latkovacki  Pogledi,  a  modest  peasant's  cottage 
with  two  or  three  other  little  buildings  grouped 
around  it. 

This  is  the  house  of  the  widow  Miona. 

Sibin  Dzamich  was  killed  in  the  second  war,  be- 
hind Jankova  Klisura. 

Stories  are  still  told  of  his  exploits  and  of  his  cour- 
age, and  whenever  anyone  speaks  of  Sibin  at  Velika, 
they  always  say, 

''May  God  keep  Him" 

His  Miona  was  left  alone  with  three  orphans,  two 
sons  and  a  daughter.  They  stood  very  close  on  the 
steps  of  the  ladder,  Ognjan  the  eldest  was  only  seven. 

There  can  be  no  greater  misfortune  for  a  peasant 
household  than  to  be  left  without  a  head. 

The  same  sorrow  had  fallen  on  many  other  homes 
in  the  countryside.  Many  other  widows  had  mourned 
their  husbands,  and  been  consoled.  After  a  year  or 
two,  some  had  remarried  and  taken  their  children 
with  them  into  the  new  home,  others  had  gone  back 
to  their  own  families. 

109 


110  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

Sibin's  Miona  would  not  follow  the  example  of  her 
companions  in  misfortune.  Courageous,  intelligent 
and  hardworking,  she  undertook  to  do  even  the  heaviest 
of  the  farm  work. 

It  seemed  to  Miona  that  her  Sibin  would  come  back, 
and  how  could  she  face  him  if  he  found  his  house 
deserted  and  in  ruins? 

Sibin  had  brothers  and  relatives,  but  none  of  them 
had  lived  with  him.  They  were  all  industrious  peo- 
ple, sympathetic  and  kind  hearted  and  no  day  passed 
that  one  of  them  did  not  come  to  Miona 's  house  to 
help  her  a  little  in  her  work. 

It  was  Sibin's  younger  brother  Jelenko  who  ren- 
dered her  the  most  service.  How  many  times  did  he 
not  say  to  his  sister-in-law. 

"Why  will  you  not  listen  to  me,  my  sister?  Why 
will  you  not  come  to  our  house?  Can't  you  see,  my 
poor  sister,  that  with  three  children  you  can  never 
get  through  all  this  ?  You  don 't  know  what  to  do  fii*st. 
With  a  hundred  arms  you  could  not  do  everything, — 
just  you  alone.  Why  not  come  and  live  with  us,  at 
least  until  the  children  are  big  and  strong?" 

"I  cannot,  brother,"  answered  Miona,  sighing. 

"But  why  not?  In  our  house  everything  would  be 
easier  and  more  comfortable  for  you." 

"But  brother,  how  can  I  let  the  fire  go  out  on  this 
hearth,  where  my  children  were  first  warmed  ?  What 
should  I  say  to  my  children  by  and  by  when  they  ask 


THE  FIRST  FURROW  111 

me,  'Mother  what  is  that  house,  smothered  with  alders 
and  weeds,  which  no  one  goes  to  even  by  day?'  If 
I  should  do  that  the  bread  and  salt  that  I  ate  with 
Sibin  would  bring  me  sorrow.  God  preserve  me  from 
it !    Never,  brother,  never. ' ' 

Jelenko  could  do  nothing  but  shrug  his  shoulders, 
and  go  and  borrow  a  pair  of  horses  to  plough  and 
harrow  as  much  land  as  Miona  needed  for  sowing. 

These  good  people  always  helped  her  with  the  work 
that  was  too  heavy  for  a  woman's  weaker  hands. 
They  ploughed  part  of  her  fallow  land,  harrowed  and 
sowed  it,  and  prepared  it  for  the  crop  as  carefully 
as  if  the  fields  were  their  own.  Miona  did  all  the  rest 
herself.  She  hoed,  weeded  and  hai'vested.  She  never 
complained  that  the  work  was  too  hard.  When  her 
family  wanted  to  help  with  that  also,  she  was  almost 
hurt.  She  always  thanked  them,  and  said,  "You 
helped  me  through  the  most  difficult  part.  This  I 
can  do  quite  alone." 


II 


The  years  passed,  one  after  another,  and  Miona  grew 
so  accustomed  to  her  task  that  she  felt  that  for  her 
there  could  be  no  other  kind  of  life.  Her  children 
had  grown  bigger.  Ognjan  was  almost  fifteen  and 
going  to  school.  He  was  already  a  big  strong  lad. 
Dusanka  was  thirteen  and  took  most  of  the  household 


112  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

cares  from  her  mother's  shoulders.  If  IMiona  went 
out  early  to  the  fields  or  the  pastures  to  gather  a  few 
more  sheaves  or  to  pile  in  cocks  the  hay  that  Jelenko 
had  mowed  the  day  before,  she  found  her  dinner  ready 
when  she  came  back  to  the  house  at  noon.  Dusanka 
had  prepared  it  as  well  as  any  farmer's  wife,  and 
she  even  knew  how  to  make  bread.  The  youngest 
boy,  Senadin,  was  nine.  He  still  made  popguns  out 
of  the  alders,  but  he  knew  how  to  take  care  of  the 
lambs,  and  to  lead  the  sheep  to  pasture,  and  he,  too, 
made  himself  useful. 

God  be  thanked,  all  of  Miona's  children  were 
healthy,  happy,  intelligent  and  industrious.  Miona's 
heart  overflowed  as  she  looked  at  them. 

"My  lovely  birds,"  she  whispered,  sighing,  "God 
All  powerful,  I  beseech  you  to  keep  me  in  health  and 
strength  until  their  wings  are  stronger." 

God  is  good.  He  granted  the  prayer  of  the  lonely 
widow.  The  men  of  the  village  admired  Miona's  per- 
severance. They  all  praised  her,  and  used  her  as  an 
example  to  their  wives,  when  they  had  to  reprove  them 
for  their  moments  of  idleness.  One  thing  only  sur- 
prised them,  why  she,  being  alone,  should  send  Ognjan 
to  school,  and  deprive  the  household  of  his  help.  They 
even  almost  blamed  Miona  for  this,  and  Jelenko  spoke 
to  her  about  it.  One  day,  when  he  was  at  her  house 
with  his  old  uncle  Jedzimir,  and  they  had  discussed 
a  quantity  of  things,  he  said  to  his  sister-in-law ; 


THE  FIRST  FURROW  113 

*' Really,  everyone  is  surprised  at  what  you  are 
doing.  You  are  hardworking,  you  are  sensible,  and 
yet  you  are  committing  a  folly," 

"But  what,  brother?"  she  asked,  looking  at  him, 
a  little  startled. 

"Why  do  you  not  keep  that  child  at  home  to  help 
you  in  the  lighter  work?  Many  people  richer  than 
you,  and  with  larger  families,  find  it  impossible  to 
spare  their  children.  You  are  poor  and  suffering, 
and  yet  — " 

"I  will  never  allow  my  children  to  be  the  worst 
brought  up  in  the  village,  brother"  answered  Miona, 
flushing  a  little,  "my  Sibin,  whom  God  keep,  often 
planned  that  if  nothing  happened  to  him,  we  would 
make  Ognjan  study.  I  am  fulfilling  his  wishes.  I 
have  worked  hard  for  so  many  years,  it  will  do  me 
no  harm  to  struggle  a  little  longer." 

"That  is  true,  my  niece,"  said  old  Jedzimir,  in  his 
turn.  "That  is  all  fine  and  good,  but  on  the  other 
hand,  you  are  alone  in  the  house,  and  for  you  any 
aid,  however  small,  is  of  value." 

"Ognjan  will  finish  his  school  in  July,  and  after 
that  will  stay  with  me.  If  God  keeps  us  in  good 
health,  I  shall  send  Senadin  to  school  next  autumn. 
I  don't  want  my  children  to  be  blind  even  though  they 
have  eyes."  She  spoke  with  conviction,  and  so  firmly 
that  Jelf'nko  and  Jed/.imir  had  nothing  to  say.  They 
talked  a  little  of  other  things  and  then  went  away. 


114  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"That  is  no  woman,  that  is  a  man,"  said  Father 
Jedzimir  softly  as  they  left  Miona's  house. 

Ill 

Lent  had  begun  and  winter  was  nearing  it's  end. 
The  harsh  east  wind,  Ustoka,  and  the  icy  north  wind, 
Sever,  no  longer  blew.  The  wind  from  the  south, 
Beli-Vetar,  played  with  the  branches  of  the  great 
beech  trees,  coming  from  Zupa  and  going  even  as  far 
as  Neredja  and  Kapaonik.  The  snow  was  almost  all 
gone  and  only  what  lay  on  Suho  Rudiste  paid  no  at- 
tention to  Beli-Vetar;  that  would  not  melt  till  later, 
under  the  heat  of  June. 

On  every  side  the  diligent  farmers  were  out  in  the 
fields.  They  turned  over  the  fallow  land,  and  sang 
as  they  worked,  hoping  for  a  good  year. 

It  was  noon  when  Miona  got  back  from  the  town 
where  she  had  gone  to  see  Senadin. 

She  had  kept  her  word,  Ognjan  had  graduated 
from  the  first  class  at  the  feast  of  St,  Peter,  and 
shortly  after  the  Transfiguration,  Senadin  had  en- 
tered the  fourth  class. 

Miona  was  climbing  up  through  the  orchard,  when 
Dusanka  came  suddenly  out  of  the  house.  She  had 
something  rolled  up  in  a  little  many-coloured  bag, 
and  w^as  hurrying  somewhere. 

"Where  are  you  going  Dusanka?" 


THE  FIRST  FURROW  115 

"Oh,  is  it  you,  have  you  oome  back  so  soon?" 
Dusanka  answered,  a  little  confused.  ' '  That  is  lucky, 
because  the  house  will  not  be  left  empty.  I  am  going 
to  meet  my  brother." 

"Yes,  and  where  is  he?" 

"In  the  field,  down  beyond  the  clearing.  He  told 
me  to  bring  him  his  lunch." 

"Isn't  he  coming  back  to  the  house  to  eat?" 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"He  took  the  oxen  and  the  plough." 

"Oh,"  cried  Miona,  "and  why  did  you  not  tell 
me  that  at  once,  my  dear  scatter-brain  child?  Give 
me  the  little  bag,  I  will  take  it  to  him." 

"No,  let  me  mother,  you  are  tired,  and  beside — ," 

"Beside  what,  my  child?" 

"My  brother  begged  me  not  to  tell  you  right  away. 
He  said,  'I  want  to  give  pleasure  to  my  mother.'  " 

"May  God  give  him  back  that  pleasure!  I  am  not 
tired,  child,  I  did  not  even  know  that  I  had  come 
back  so  quickly.  It  was  not  quite  nice  of  you  not 
to  tell  me  right  away.  See  how  late  it  is,  already 
past  noon.     Has  he  been  gone  long  ? ' ' 

"He  can  hardly  have  reached  the  field  yet." 

Miona  snatched  up  Dusanka 's  bag.  glanced  into 
it  to  see  what  was  prepared,  and  hurried  (luickly 
away.  Dusanka,  surprised,  stood  at  the  door  and 
watched  her  mother  go. 


116  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

IV 

The  field  beyond  the  clearing  needs  only  one  day's 
ploughing.  The  ground  is  not  very  fertile,  and  even 
in  good  years,  the  harvest  is  never  more  than  two  or 
three  stacks  of  wheat. 

Ognjan  had  ploughed  the  first  furrow,  and  was 
about  to  start  again,  when  suddenly  his  mother  ap- 
peared. 

*'Ah!  just  see  how  my  boy  works,"  cried  Miona 
happily.  Running  to  Ognjan  she  began  to  embrace 
and  kiss  him.    The  boy  stood  still,  a  little  taken  aback. 

*'May  your  labour  be  fortunate,  my  master.  What 
a  superb  furrow,  and  how  deep  it  is !  Oh,  I  am  silly, 
I  chatter  when  you  are  tired,  my  w^orker!  Here, 
take  this,  it  was  your  sister  who  prepared  your  lunch 
for  you." 

Miona  quickly  emptied  the  bag  of  all  that  it  con- 
tained, spread  it  out,  and  placed  on  it  a  little  salt,  some 
onions,  cooked  potatoes,  a  small  loaf,  a  bowel  of  pea 
soup,  and  a  small  gourd  of  wine ;  saying  as  she  did  so ; 

"Ah,  see  what  a  girl  Dusanka  is!  She  has  even  put 
in  wine.  ]\Iy  daughter  is  growing  up !  She  already 
knows  what  will  be  good  for  a  tired  man.  Stop  your 
plough,  my  son,  you  have  worked  enough." 

Her  eyes  filled  vnth.  tears. 

"What  is  tlie  matter,  mother?"  asked  Ognjan,  as  he 
sat   down.     "You  are  crying." 


THE  FIRST  FURROW  117 

"It  is  nothing,  my  son,  nothing.  See,  I  am  laugh- 
ing. Take  some  food,  I  know  that  you  are  hungry. 
The  truth  is  that  I  was  delayed  a  little  in  the  town. 
You  don 't  know  how  pleased  the  schoolmaster  is  with 
our  Senadin!" 

"You  sit  down  too,  mother,  so  that  wo  can  eat  to- 
gether" said  Ognjan,  breaking  off  a  piece  of  the  loaf 
for  her. 

"No,  my  son,  I  will  eat  at  the  house.  Dusanka  is 
waiting  for  me"  answered  i\Iiona,  still  standing  and 
almost  waiting  on  her  son.  ' '  You  think  perhaps  that 
I  am  tired,  Ognjan,  but  I  am  not.  I  can  be  all  day 
on  my  feet.  But  look  at  my  son!  He  works  like  a 
grown  man!  Dusanlia  told  me,  but  I  thought  she 
was  joking,  the  little  scamp." 

Again  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  wiped  them 
away  with  her  hands,  and  laughed. 

Ognjan  was  almost  shy.  He  flushed,  and  wanted  to 
say  something,  but  did  not  know  what. 

Miona  offered  him  the  food  again. 

She  began  to  talk  to  him  as  if  to  a  child,  but  still 
always  standing  before  him.  She  said  that  she  would 
keep  the  wheat  from  that  field  to  use  only  for  feast 
days.  She  would  make  from  it  the  cesnica,  the  Christ- 
mas biscuit,  and  that  kolac  cake  which  is  made  only 
for  the  Slava.    Tlie  best  flour  is  made  from  old  graiu. 

"If  the  seed  will  only  sprout!"  said  Ognjan,  "You 
know  well,  mother,  that  this  field  is  one  of  our  least 


118  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

fertile  ones.  The  grain  from  here  is  almost  always 
rotted." 

*'0h,  it  will  sprout,  my  son,  it  must  sprout!  There 
is  no  better  ground,  even  in  Morava.  Here,  there 
has  never  been  either  rot  or  tares. ' ' 

Ognjan  finished  eating,  got  up,  took  the  plough 
again,  and  gave  the  oxen  a  couple  of  blows  with  his 
pole. 

Miona  stood  watching  her  son,  who  hopped  about 
like  a  young  cock,  pulling  the  ploughhandles  and  bal- 
ancing the  plough,  sometimes  to  one  side  and  some- 
times to  the  other.  This  is  difficult  work,  and  the 
boy's  arms  were  still  weak. 

Several  times  Miona  longed  to  run  and  help  him, 
but  something  held  her  back,  she  knew  not  what. 

She  packed  the  little  bag  again,  and  went  slowly 
back  to  the  house. 

How  often  she  turned  to  look  back  at  Ognjan.  She 
could  still  see  him  when  he  was  turning  the  third 
furrow. 

A  strange  new  joy  seized  her.  She  wanted  to  cry 
and  to  laugh.  She  did  not  know  why.  After  a  little 
while  she  whispered  to  herself,  ''It  is  my  turn,  this 
time,  for  God  should  give  me  joy.  Am  I  not  happy! 
Who  could  think  otherwise!  Oh,  how  happy  I  am! 
I  have  a  son,  I  have  a  master!  The  hands  of  others 
will  work  for  me  no  longer.  No,  no  one  has  such  a 
child.     How  he   works!     Jelenko   himself  could  not 


THE  FIRST  FURROW  119 

do  better.  He  is  a  man  already.  In  one  or  two 
years,  if  God  is  willing,  I  shaU  have  him  married. 
My  house  will  sing  again." 

Dusanka  never  remembered  having  seen  her  mother 
so  cheerful  as  when  she  returned  from  the  field  be- 
yond the  clearing. 

She  came  into  the  house,  humming  a  gay  little  song. 


BY  THE  WELL 
By  Lazae  Lazarovich 


121 


Lazar  Laz^vbovich  was  born  in  1851  at  Labach, 
(Serbia),  a  town  which  was  completely  destroyed 
in  1914  during  the  great  war.  He  completed  his  law 
course  at  Belgrade  and  then  his  medical  course  at 
Berlin  and  was  a  practicing  physician  throughout 
his  life,  first  in  the  country  and  then  in  Belgrade. 
He  was  elected  a  corresponding  member  of  the  Serb- 
ian E/oyal  Academy. 

Lazarovich  was  the  author  of  a  dozen  short  stories 
which  aroused  the  most  immense  enthusiasm  among 
the  public  and  founded  the  realistic  school  of  Serbian 
fiction.     He  died  in  1890. 


122 


BY  THE  WELL 
By  liAZAR  Lazarovich 


How  the  wind  blows !  so  that  great  clouds  of  mist 
are  quivering  above  the  furrows  like  whitish  phan- 
toms. They  are  borne  along  in  the  direction  in  which 
the  wind  is  blowing,  and  then  they  hang  in  thin  white 
crystals,  like  pendants,  to  one's  beard  and  moustachas 
and  to  one 's  horse 's  coat. 

I  shall  go  to  the  house  of  Matija  Djenadich.  That 
is  his  house,  there,  with  the  wooden  flask  of  brandy 
hanging  out  on  the  plum  tree  in  front  of  it.  "Who- 
ever passes,  let  him  taste."  That  is  what  Matija 
wishes;  and  when  you  come  to  his  house  they  receive 
you  with  open  arms. 

What  a  house  it  is !  A  regular  old-fashioned  Ladru- 
ga*  Come  in  the  evening  when  they  are  expecting 
you.  One  of  the  sons'  wives  meets  you  on  the  very 
road  with  a  torch  in  her  hand,  a  second  stands  in  the 
orchard,  a  third  in  front  of  the  store-house,  a  fourth 

*  The  Larlruga  has  a  common  menage  and  represents  a  very 
strong  association.  No  member  possesses  any  property  of  his 
own,  all  goods  belonging  to  the  family  as  a  whole.  Each 
member  of  the  community  has  a  fixed  duty  to  perform,  and 
the  entire  family  is  ruled  by  an  elder,  who  is  almost  always 
its  oldest  member.  He  decides  where  the  young  men  are  to  go 
and  what  they  are  to  do.  He  has  charge  of  the  selling  of  all 
that  is  saleable,  he  keeps  the  money-box  and  attends  to  the 
payment  of  taxea.    His  authority  ia  undisputed. 

123 


124  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

beats  off  the  dogs,  a  fifth  is  in  the  kitchen,  a  sixth  in 
the  room,  into  which  they  take  you,  A  whole  assemblage 
of  wedding  guests !  And  everything  in  their  house  is 
happy,  modest,  and  content.  God  grant,  though,  that 
you  do  not  cross  any  member  of  the  household,  for 
si:c  of  the  sons  are  in  the  army ! 

They  have  no  need  of  their  neighbours  to  help  them 
— why  should  they,  with  so  many  hands?  They  can 
plough  three  ploughs  continuously  without  an  effort ; 
and  when  merchants  come  to  buy  the  pigs,  Matija's 
belt  becomes  comfortably  fat. 

I  knew  their  Arsen  when  he  was  a  boy.  He  would 
take  his  flute  from  his  belt  and  screech  beside  Burma- 
zovich  's  house,  for  there  was  a  girl  there,  a  daughter. 
And  what  a  girl !  If  you  rode  alongside  her  and,  as 
the  saying  is,  she  turned  her  dark  eyes  in  your  direc- 
tion, the  world  turned  around  you  and  you  could 
hardly  keep  your  saddle. 

But  Arsen  got  used  to  her  eyes  and  was  not  afraid  of 
them.  He  put  his  foot  on  one  rail  of  the  fence,  his 
elbow  on  another,  rested  his  face  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand  and  spoke  to  her: 

* '  I  am  ashamed  to  mention  it  to  father,  and,  as  for 
grandfather,  I  simply  dare  not." 

Anoka  was  not  confused,  as  she  should  have  been. 
She  looked  out  craftily  from  her  eyes,  turned  a  little 
aside  and,  hiding  her  anger,  said : 

"Very  well  then.    I  shall  marry  Philip  Maricich!" 


BY  THE  WELL  125 

"What !  Do  you  think  I  will  give  you  up  to  anyone 
else?  I  assure  you  that  the  man  who  so  much  as 
touched  you  with  his  finger  would  not  have  one  bone 
left  unbroken  in  his  body ! ' ' 

Anoka  tapped  on  the  ground  with  her  foot  like  a 
spoilt  child.  She  swelled  out  her  breast,  her  eyes 
glittered,  and  she  tossed  her  head : 

"Really?  And  perhaps  you  wish  me  to  plait  my 
grey  hairs  ?    You  shall  see ! ' ' 

But  Arsen  heard  no  more.  He  seized  her  by  the 
hand  and  drew  her  towards  the  fence  and  to  him.  She 
resisted  firmly,  but  all  the  same  came  forward,  nearer 
and  nearer — a  mysterious  fire  overcoming  her  as  the 
man's  hand  encircled  her  waist. 

A  good  sort  of  girl  she  was,  but  Burmazovich  had 
spoilt  her  terribly.  So  many  of  his  family  had  died 
at  the  time  of  the  cholera  that  he  had  cherished  Anoka, 
like  a  little  water  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

One  should  not  spoil  a  child  and  give  it  its  way,  even 
though  it  be  the  only  child  in  the  world. 

That  evening  Arsen  came  home  lost  in  thought. 
Contrary  to  his  custom,  he  first  went  to  the  store-room 
and,  with  a  wine-taster,  he  drank  freely  from  a  barrel. 
Normally  he  never  drank. 

Next  he  sat  down  on  a  bench  alone  in  the  darkness 
and  looked  at  the  life  in  the  courtyard.  The  fire  was 
flickering  with  a  red  flame  at  the  kitchen  door — It 
licked  the  saucepan  and  the  chains  on  which  it  sung. 


126  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

The  fire  seemed  even  to  reach  Arsen  himself.  He  felt 
a  certain  warmth  and  wondered  how  such  a  thing  could 
be,  that  the  flame  from  the  kitchen  should  actually 
warm  him.  Now  and  again  black  pictures  of  men  and 
dogs  in  the  courtyard  passed  by  the  fire.  From  the 
stable  sounded  the  stamping  of  a  horse ;  in  front  of  the 
storeroom  the  oxen,  with  which  Nenad  had  just  come 
from  town,  were  being  unyoked.  A  hen  plumped 
down  from  the  mulberry  tree  and  settled  among  her 
companions  with  much  fluttering.  Every  noise  sounded 
clearly  through  the  evening  silence.  A  mouse  dared 
already  to  start  nibbling  under  the  very  log  on  which 
Arsen  was  sitting. 

His  head  began  to  swim.  At  first  he  heard,  under 
his  left  breast,  his  heart  beating  as  though  something 
had  frightened  him.  Then  all  at  once  he  began  to 
laugh,  without  reason,  madly. 

He  knew  not  why  he  laughed,  nor  yet  why,  immedi- 
ately afterwards,  he  burst  into  tears.  He  only  knew 
that  through  his  laughter  and  through  his  tears  Anoka 
appeared  in  a  dim  picture,  and  this  beat  so  wonder- 
fully upon  his  heart  that  it  seemed  to  him  that  now  he 
would  die.  He  leaned  upon  the  barrel  from  which  he 
had  drunk  a  short  time  before  and  began  to  die,  but  so 
sweetly  that  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  Anoka  were 
embracing  him  and  as  though  the  wild  horse  of  the 
Ostojich  were  carrying  him. 

He  slept  there  for  a  little  while ;  then  Velinka,  one 


BY  THE  WELL  127 

of  his  sisters-in-law,  came  in  with  a  torch  in  her  hand 
to  look  for  something  in  the  store-room.  She  started 
when  she  caught  sight  of  Arsen  on  the  log  besides  the 
barrel  with  the  wine-taster  in  his  hand.  She  ap- 
proached him  timidly  and  touched  his  shoulder. 

''Darling!" 

Arsen  opened  bloodshot  eyes. 

' '  You  are  drunk,  poor  boy ! ' ' 

He  agreed  cheerfully. 

*'Yes,  drunk!" 

"But  why?" 

"Why?    Because  I  want  to  kill  Philip  Marieich!" 

He  waved  the  wine-taster  above  his  head,  struck  it 
on  the  ground,  broke  it,  and  began  to  laugh. 

This  made  Velinka  laugh  also. 

"But  why,  darling?  What  has  Philip  done  to 
you?" 

' '  He  wishes  to  marry  Anoka ! ' ' 

'  *  Well  ?    Let  him  many  her ! " 

' '  I  will  never  let  him ! ' ' 

He  threw  himself  forward  a  little  and  wished  to  get 
up,  but  his  back  found  the  companionship  of  the  barrel 
so  pleasant  that  it  obstinately  returned  to  its  former 
position. 

Velinka  restrained  her  laughter. 

**But  why,  darling?  Do  you  wish  to  marry  her 
yourself?" 

"Certainly  I  do." 


128  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

And  when  he  had  said  this,  he  was  embarrassed ;  he 
turned  himself  towards  the  barrel,  began  to  cry  and 
to  speak  through  his  tears. 

"Yes.    Has  not  my  brother  married?    I  also  wish 


He  tried  to  strike  his  knee  in  emphasis  of  this,  but 
his  fist,  without  question  or  permission,  struck  the  log. 
As  a  punishment  he  thrust  it  between  his  teeth  and 
bit  it. 

Velinka  laughed  all  the  more. 

"There,  there,  poor  child.  Then  you  shall  marry, 
darling.  Don't  be  afraid.  I  will  speak  to  father  this 
evening  and  he  will  speak  to  grandmother  and  then 
grandmother  will  arrange  the  affair  with  grandfather 
as  it  ought  to  be.  Come  along,  let  me  take  you  to  your 
room  so  that  grandfather  shall  not  see  you  like  this. 
Poor  fellow;  go  to  sleep!  Don't  worry — we'll  find  a 
girl  for  you,  even  if  it  is  Anoka  you  wish  for. ' ' 

"I  do  wish  it,  indeed  I  do." 

The  sister-in-law  led  the  drunken  youth  through  the 
house  in  the  dark  to  his  room.  She  covered  him  with 
the  coverlet  and  went  to  the  kitchen  to  tell  her  sisters- 
in-law  what  had  happened. 

Not  one  rejoiced  at  the  news.  They  laughed,  it  is 
true,  but  the  smiles  did  not  come  from  the  heart. 

"She  is  not  for  our  house!" 

"A  coquette!" 


BY  THE  WELL  129 

"That  is  not  the  worst,  but  a  regular  spoilt  child, 
God  help  us!" 
"She  would  make  mischief  amongst  us!'* 

Matija  Djenadich  was  an  old  man.  On  his  forehead 
could  still  be  seen  the  scar  of  the  wound  he  got  in  the 
entrenchments  of  Hajduk  Veljko.  The  whole  village, 
as  well  as  his  own  family,  called  him  grandfather. 
His  wife  died  long  ago  in  the  retreat,  but  his  elder 
brother's  wife  was  still  left  and  she  now  divided  the 
headship  of  the  family  with  him.  Her  name  was 
Radojka.  She  sat  at  the  table  on  the  grandfather's 
right  hand,  and  nothing  of  real  importance  was  de- 
cided in  the  house  until  she  had  given  her  opinion,  or 
at  least  until  the  grandfather  had  asked  it.  She  under- 
stood her  position  thoroughly  and  did  not  abuse  it. 
The  grandfather,  for  example,  would  ask: 

"What  do  you  say,  sister-in-law,  about  Maricich's 
enclosure  ?    Shall  we  take  it  ? " 

"As  you  decide,  brother.    Yours  is  the  man *s  head. ' ' 

She  kissed  the  grandfather's  hand;  and  all  the  rest, 
both  men  and  women,  kissed  hers,  although  this  was 
not  generally  the  custom  in  the  village. 

In  addition  to  Matija  and  Radojka,  there  was  an- 
other member  of  the  family  council — the  grandfather's 
eldest  son,  Blagoje,  Arson's  father.  Except  for  these 
three,  no  one  was  consulted  about  anything  in  the 
household,  but  all  cheerfully  obeyed.     If,  however, 


130  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

Matija  took  the  taxes,  Radojka  went  to  church  and 
Blagoje  to  bed  down  the  stock — the  house  was  like  a 
school  when  the  teacher  has  gone  away.  Everything 
was  friendly,  happy  and  pleasant,  and  everyone  looked 
upon  this  as  an  occasion  for  a  good  joke  and  a  laugh. 
When,  however,  any  one  of  the  three  reappeared  at 
the  door,  solemnity,  order  and  submission  were  estab- 
lished immediately.  Sometimes  the  three  would  con- 
ceal themselves  on  purpose  that  the  children  might  be 
merry,  and  that  the  men  might  smoke  tobacco  without 
constraint. 

The  grandfather  was — was — how  shall  I  tell  you? 
You  know — an  old  man — nearly  a  child.  Sometimes 
he  would  become  furious  on  the  very  smallest  pro- 
vocation— rage,  abuse,  fire  up  and  even  wish  to  strike. 
Sometimes,  again,  soft  as  cotton  wool,  he  would  seek 
only  to  kiss  the  children,  would  give  them  as  much  as 
ten  paras  and  burst  into  tears  for  no  reason  at  all. 

He  would  say,  for  example,  "See!  I  am  left  like  a 
withered  tree  in  the  mountain,"  and  would  fall  into 
lamentation. 

Youth,  folly;  old  age,  feebleness;  as  the  Serbs  say. 

The  day  after  Arsen's  drinking,  Blagoje  came  to 
Radojka  with  a  very  solemn  face. 

"Aunt,  our  Arsen  has  fallen  in  love  with  that  span- 
iel of  Burmazovich's." 

*  *  Arsen  ?    The  on*  we  made  a  man  of  this  summer  ? '  * 

"The  same." 


BY  THE  WELL  131 

"That  spaniel,  you  say,  of  Burmazovieh 's ? " 

"Yes." 

"Anoka?" 

"Yes." 

' '  She  is  not  for  our  house ! ' ' 

"No.  And  I  said  so,  but  he  has  fallen  in  love  with 
her  very  violently.  Velinka  told  me  last  night  that 
he  did  something  shameful." 

"What?" 

"Do  not  tell  grandfather,  promise!" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Well,  Velinka  says  he  was  drunk  and  that  he 
raged  and  threatened  to  kill  Philip  Maricich — for  he, 
you  know     .     .     .     visits  there!" 

The  grandmother  considered.    At  last  she  answered : 

"I  ^\ill  speak  to  grandfather  to  see  what  he  v/ill 
say." 

"You  will  not  mention,  please,  anything  about  the 
other  thing?" 

"God  be  with  you." 

When  Radojka  told  the  whole  story  to  the  grand- 
father afterwards,  he  thought  and  thought.  At  last 
his  eyebrows  moved. 

"Sister,  it  is  as  you  say.  But  I  have  heard  from 
old  men  that  one  should  not  restrain  children  in  such 
matters.  We  have  a  large  house,  thanks  be  to  God. 
I  believe  that  tliere  are  no  less  than  eighty  souls  in  it." 

"There  are,  certainly,  and  more." 


132  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"There  are?  Thanks  be  to  God!  I  should  thmk 
this  one  would  take  after  the  other  children." 

"God  grant  it!" 

Some  days  after  this  Anoka  said  to  one  of  her 
friends :  "I  knew  that  everything  must  go  according 
to  my  wish.  And  indeed  there  is  not  such  a  girl  as 
myself  in  nine  villages."  Then  she  drew  from  her 
bosom  a  case  with  a  little  looking-glass  and  began  to 
arrange  her  curls. 

It  was  a  pity  that,  when  she  went  to  Djenadich's 
house,  she  still  remained  the  same  spoilt  child  she 
had  been  in  her  father's.  She  knew  everj'thing  best. 
Always  things  had  to  be  according  to  her  will.  She 
would  not  do  as  she  was  told.  She  would  say:  "I 
did  not  do  that  in  my  father's  house!"  or  "Why 
should  I  knead  bread  for  a  Tsar's  army?  One  loaf 
is  enough  for  Arsen  and  me." 

The  women  folk  dared  not  speak.  They  complained 
sometimes  to  their  husbands,  but  none  ventured  to 
mention  anything  to  Radojka  or  to  the  grandfather. 

For  a  long  time  they  endured  and  concealed  their 
discomfort.  They  worked  entirely  for  Anoka  and  ac- 
cording to  her  wish.  There  was  something  command- 
ing, tyrannical,  in  her  bearing,  so  that  you  had  to 
obey  her.  Perhaps  it  was  her  beauty  also  that  dom- 
inated the  women.  Her  sisters-in-law  complained  of 
her  among  themselves,  but  they  protected  and  de- 
fended her  before  the  elder  people  and  before  stran- 


BY  THE  WELL  133 

gers.  God  knows  to  what  an  extent  they  would  have 
endured  without  a  storm,  had  not  Anoka,  before  she 
had  been  six  months  in  the  house,  become  utterly  self- 
willed.  It  is  impossible  even  to  mention  certain  things 
she  said;  as,  for  instance,  when  they  called  her  to 
plant  cabbages,  or  when  one  of  them  asked  her  to 
look  after  her  child.  Finally  she  began  to  ask  to 
be  dressed  differently  and  better  than  the  others.  The 
unfortunate  Arson  said  to  her  that  his  grandfather 
and  Radojka  bought  all  the  clothes  and  that  he  dare 
not  suggest  to  his  grandfather  to  buy  a  new  spangled 
bodice  for  her  and  not  for  the  others.  She  answered 
that  she  had  not  married  his  grandfather,  and  that 
she  would  go  to  her  father  and  ask  him  to  buy  her 
one,  because  her  husband  was  a  weakling  "and  had 
not  the  courage  even  to  get  her  a  pin  without  asking 
that  greybeard."  Arsen  was  in  a  terrible  position. 
If  only  she  would  not  look  at  him  with  those  eyes  of 
hers  he  would  have  had  control  over  her.  Sometimes 
he  even  put  his  hand  to  his  belt,  bit  his  pipe  and  seized 
his  stick  by  the  middle,  but  the  moment  she  looked 
at  him  he  stood  at  attention  as  though  he  were  stand- 
ing before  a  bishop. 

So  she  became  more  and  more  uncontrolled  and  be- 
gan purposely  to  flout  them  all.  She  let  the  dogs  into 
the  kitchen  so  that  they  cleared  all  the  meat  from  the 
saucepan ;  she  paid  no  attention  when  she  turned  the 
cock  of  the  wine  barrel;  her  bread  was  burned  so 


134  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

that  the  whole  baking  had  to  be  thrown  to  the  pigs; 
she  wore  holiday  clothes  on  a  working  day;  she  did 
not  so  much  as  turn  her  head  to  see  what  the  children 
were  doing,  and  it  was  her  fault  that  Jovanka's  child 
fell  into  the  quick-lime.  There  was  not  one  of  her 
sisters-in-law  to  whom  she  had  not  given  an  offensive 
nickname;  she  called  Radojka  an  "old  trollop,"  and 
the  grandfather  "the  cholera."  Each  day  there  was 
greater  trouble  and  annoyance,  and  when  anyone  said 
anything  to  her,  she  inunediately  threatened  to  return 
to  her  father.  It  was  unbearable  for  the  women,  and 
on  one  occasion  when  Anoka,  who  ought  to  have  been 
in  charge,  went  to  the  fair,  they  met  in  secret  council. 

"I  do  not  know,  my  sisters,  how  we  have  sinned 
against  God  that  we  should  suffer  this." 

"Nor  I,  indeed." 

"This  really  is  ruin  and  misfortune." 

* '  Things  cannot  remain  like  this,  alas ! ' ' 

"Let  us  tell  grandmother  and  she  will  tell  grand- 
father." 

"You  tell  them,  Selena." 

"Why  me?" 

"Didn't  she  say  to  you  that  you  had  taken  her 
bracelet?" 

"Yes,  but  why?  Didn't  she  say  to  you  that  your 
husband  was  a  wild  priest  ? ' ' 

"And  she  said  to  Llirjana  that  she  came  here  from 
positive  hunger." 


BY  THE  WELL  135 

"And  to  Velinka  that  her  child  was  not  her  hus- 
band's." 

But  even  then  the  women  would  hardly  have  made 
up  their  minds  to  speak,  had  not  Radojka  for  a  long 
time  past  both  listened  and  watched  what  was  happen- 
ing, and  had  not  Arsen  himself,  when  Anoka  tore  her 
brand  new  bodice  on  the  woodpile  the  very  next  day, 
gone  to  the  grandfather  with  a  complaint. 

Arsen  was  a  quiet  man.  From  childhood  he  had 
learnt  nothing  beyond  obedience.  He  was  not  even 
capable  of  selling  wood  unless  they  told  him  at  home 
how  much  to  ask  for  it  and  for  how  much  to  let  it  go. 

The  grandfather  was  sitting  alone  in  his  room  when 
Arsen  came  in.  As  he  could  not  do  any  other  work 
he  was  shelling  peas. 

Arsen  took  off  his  cap  and  approached  his  grand- 
father. 

The  grandfather  frowned.  He  did  not  raise  his 
head  nor  give  Arsen  his  hand.  He  only  said  drily: 
' '  May  you  live  long ! ' ' 

"Grandfather — I  beg  you — I — it's  a  shame  for  me 
to  come  here — but  I  cannot  help  it " 

The  grandfather  looked  at  him  frowning. 

"I — "  continued  Arsen,  " — I  had  to  come — do  not 
be  angry." 

The  grandfather  lifted  his  head,  threw  away  the 
basket  of  peas  in  his  anger  and  cried: 

"I  know  all  that!     And  what  kind  of  a  man  you 


136  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

are!     To  havo  saddled  yourself  with  that — that " 

He  was  silent  for  a  little. 

"With  that—!     To  split  up  my  house!" 

Arsen,  poor  wretch,  was  petrified  when  he  heard 
that  his  grandfather  knew  all.  His  voice  forsook 
him: — 

*'I  beg  you,  grandfather — I  did  not  know  .  .  . 
What  shall  I  do ?     Forgive  me!" 

He  sought  to  take  his  grandfather's  hand.  The 
grandfather  drew  his  hand  back. 

' '  Keep  off !  Do  not  soil  my  hands !  Are  you  really 
a  man?" 

Arsen  turned  his  head  away  and  covered  his  eyes 
with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat. 

"Do  what  you  will  with  me  and  vnih  her.  Kill 
me  and  turn  her  out!  God  will  forgive  you!  Only 
I  beseech  you,  do  not  turn  me  away  from  you. ' ' 

The  grandfather's  beard  trembled  a  little.  He 
wished  to  conceal  his  emotion.  He  straightened  him- 
self magisterially,  raised  his  head  towards  the  ceiling 
and  bent  down  a  little. 

"You  see,  my  son,  you  chose  yourself.  Did  I  say 
to  you  either  do  it,  or  don 't  do  it  ? " 

"No,  most  assuredly  not.  It  is  I  alone  who  am 
guilty. ' ' 

"And  now  it  is  for  me  to  straighten  out  what  you 
entangled?" 

"For  God,  and  then  you." 


BY  THE  WELL  137 

"But  how  am  I  to  do  so?" 

If  Radojka  had  been  there  she  would  have  noticed 
a  look  of  childish  cunning  in  the  half -closed  eyes  of 
the  old  man. 

"As  God  shows  you "  said  Arsen. 

"And  you — her  ...  I  mean — do  you  really 
dislike  her?" 

Arsen  was  confused.  He  would  have  liked  to  be 
silent,  but  his  grandfather  steadily  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eyes. 

"She  is  an  obstinate  person." 

"I  know,  I  know,  but  I  ask  you — do  you  care  for 
her?" 

Arsen  was  again  silent.  He  would  have  liked  to 
evade  the  question,  but  his  grandfather  steadily  looked 
him  in  the  eyes. 

"It  must  be,"  said  Arsen,  "that  her  father  abso- 
lutely spoilt  her.     You  know,  she  was  his  only  child." 

The  grandfather  seemed  to  lose  patience. 

"Do  you  hear,  I  say,  what  I  ask  you?  I  ask  you 
to  tell  me,  do  you  love  Anoka?     Tell  me  that." 

Arsen  bent  down  his  head.  He  covered  his  face 
with  his  hand  and  began  to  turn  his  shoulders  from 
left  to  right  with  embarrassment.  Drawling  out  his 
words  he  answered: 

"I  do  not  know." 

"But  you  must  know,  because  I  must  be  ruled  by 


138  JUGO-SLAV  STOKIES 

that,  so  that  there  shall  not  be  something  wrong 
again,  and  that  you  should  say  this  and  that." 

"I  shall  say  nothing." 

*'Good.     Now  go,  and  I  will  think  it  over." 

Anyone  who  could  read  the  grandfather's  mind 
could  have  seen  at  once  that  he  had  already  decided 
what  to  do,  and  that  he  was  satisfied  with  his  plan. 

That  evening  when  they  w^ere  sitting  at  supper,  the 
men  w^ere  arranged  according  to  their  seniority,  as 
was  the  custom.  Except  for  Radojka  not  one  of  the 
women  was  there.  They  ate  apart,  save  the  two  or 
three  who  served  the  men. 

It  happened  to  be  Anoka's  turn  to  serve. 

While  the  other  two  carried  the  food  in  and  out 
and  served  the  drink,  she  leaned  on  the  door  with 
her  shoulders  and  fingered  her  nose. 

The  grandfather  did  not  look  at  her.  They  were 
all  silent.  As  for  Radojka,  her  heart  beat,  beat.  An- 
oka did  not  dream  of  what  was  coming. 

After  they  had  had  supper,  the  men  began  to  cross 
themselves  and  to  wait  for  the  grandfather  to  get  up. 

The  grandfather  put  aside  his  piece  of  bread,  his 
spoon  and  fork,  and  put  his  knife  into  its  sheath.  He 
leant  on  his  elbows,  looked  around  at  everyone  and 
fixed  his  glance  on  Anoka. 

Something  made  her  start.  She  let  her  hands  fall 
by  her  side,  straightened  herself  and  turned  to  go  out. 


BY  THE   WELL  139 

"Wait,  daughter!"  cried  the  grandfather  in  an  un- 
usually clear  voice. 

All  of  them  started. 

In  that  same  voice  the  grandfather  continued — 

"You,  my  child — you.  I  hear  that  everything  is 
uncomfortable  for  you  in  my  house  among  ray 
people." 

Who  has  ever  heard  a  woman  answer?  Anoka  was 
silent,  but  she  clutched  her  thigh  with  her  hand  and 
the  nails  went  into  the  flesh. 

' '  I  will  not  allow  this,  while  I  am  alive.  I  will  not 
allow  my  house  to  be  a  place  of  forced  labour  for 
any  one  of  my  children.  I  hear  that  these  women" 
(he  nodded  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen) 
— "that  these  women  bully  you  and  treat  you  badly. 
But  I  am  master  here ! ' ' 

Anoka  saw  something  crafty  in  the  grandfather's 
distorted  face,  and  along  with  her  aversion,  she  felt 
for  the  first  time  a  certain  uneasiness. 

"They  have  all  annoyed  you  a  great  deal.  They 
would  all  like  you  to  work  and  slave  entirely  for  them, 
as  though  you  had  come  here  from  some  destitute 
house." 

He  became  so  awkwardly  affectionate  and  tender 
that  Anoka's  hair  began  to  rise  on  her  head. 

"I  will  not  allow  that!  I  am  old  and  weak  and  it 
is  hard  for  me  to  keep  control  by  myself  among  so 


140  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

many  people.  But  see,  I  will  not  allow  any  more — 
I " 

His  eyes  stared,  his  lips  began  to  tremble.  He 
called  out  in  a  harsh  and  fiightening  way : — 

"All  of  you!  You  listen  too,  Radojka,  and  you, 
Blagoje,  and  all  the  rest.  I  order  all  of  you  and  your 
wives  to  obey  her  there."  With  his  hand,  which 
trembled  like  a  reed,  he  pointed  to  Anoka.  "  I  do  not 
wish  her  to  work  at  anything  in  my  house  nor  to  soil 
her  fine  fingers — not  even  to  draw  the  wine.  May 
God  kill  him  w^ho  does  not  obey  her  in  everything  or 
annoys  her  in  the  very  least  in  anything!" 

He  sprang  up.  Poor  old  man!  Dignified  and  at 
the  same  time  laughable  and  pathetic.  As  he  went 
out  he  shook  like  a  jelly. 

They  all  crossed  themselves  and  got  up,  keeping 
silence  as  they  passed  Anoka,  and  turning  aside  lest 
they  should  touch  her. 

A  fearful  and  horrible  rage  tore  through  Anoka. 
Like  a  mad  thing  she  flew  to  the  women  in  the 
kitchen — 

* '  Have  you  heard — you '? " 

Women  and  not  to  hear? 

' '  I  want  my  bed  made  under  the  lime  tree.  I  want 
grandfather's  mattress,  grandmother's  pillow,  Blago- 
je's  quilt,  and  I  want  you,  Petri ja,  you  whose  brother 
is  in  prison,  to  take  a  stick  and  to  drive  the  hens 
away  from  the  lime  tree  and  to  stand  over  me  the 


BY  THE  WELL  141 

whole  night.  And  she  who  does  not  obey — may  God 
kill  her!     Now  then,  quickly,  do  you  hear?" 

No  one  spoke  a  single  word.  They  were  as  though 
stunned,  and  particularly  by  the  grandfather's  words: 
''May  God  kill  him!" 

Arsen  fled  at  once  to  the  threshing  floor.  He  buried 
his  head  among  the  piled  up  sheaves  and  breathed 
heavily.  In  vain — sleep  is  not  a  quilt  to  be  pulled 
over  the  head  at  will. 

And  the  women  made  preparations  for  Anoka  to 
sleep. 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  fall  asleep  as  she  thought. 
As  never  before  she  now  felt  loneliness,  and  with  no 
roof  over  her  head  she  felt  herself  a  rider  of  a  wild 
horse  without  a  bridle,  a  pilotless  ship  driven  by  the 
wind.  Her  own  wild  heart  was  crushing  down  upon 
her  and  there  was  no  one  to  beat  it  off. 

But  her  spirit  was  stubborn.  She  would  not  yield. 
She  addressed  herself  angrily :  "I  order  you  to  sleep ! 
Obey,  lazy  wretch !  I  order  you !  Do  you  wish  God 
to  kill  you?" 

The  half  moon  blazed  in  the  sky.  Everything  was 
at  once  dead  and  ready  at  any  moment  to  burst  into 
life  again.  Something  evil  was  worming  its  way 
gradually  into  Anoka's  brain  to  make  its  nest  there. 

Matters  could  not  go  on  like  this.  What  was  she 
to  do?     If  .she  returned  to  her  father — what  could  she 


142  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

say  to  him  ?  * '  The  grandfather  ordered  them  to  obey 
me ! "    No,  she  could  not  go  to  her  father. 

And  the  night  was  drawing  steadily  on,  and  at  last 
it  too  would  pass,  and  day  would  break,  and  the  sun 
would  shine,  and  she,  poor  girl,  what  had  she  to  look 
to  ?  To  be  still  more  self-willed  ?  How  could  she  be 
more  so?  To  make  peace?  How?  By  humiliating 
herself? 

Her  thoughts  were  interlacing  themselves  like 
threads  in  a  web.  Her  thoughts  were  being  washed 
clean;  they  were  being  rinsed  out.  Weariness  con- 
quers passion  and  love  and  hate  and  hunger  and 
thirst.  A  whole  mountain  was  weighing  down  her 
eyelids  and  still  she  could  not  shut  them.  The  weari- 
ness was  so  unendurable  that,  come  what  might,  and 
had  she  been  able  to  do  so,  she  would  have  turned 
the  world  over  with  a  wave  of  her  hand,  put  her  head 
under  a  watermill  stone  and  slept — the  sleep  even  of 
death. 

But  the  grandfather  had  not  laid  his  commands 
upon  sleep,  neither  did  sleep  fear  his  curses. 

Anoka  arose.  She  saw  a  shadowy  picture  of  Petrija 
standing  above  her.  Suddenly  something  broke  within 
her.  Quite  without  warning  and  with  infinite  power 
some  chord  of  sweetness  resounded  in  her  heart. 

"Petrija,  go  and  sleep!" 

Petrija  said  nothing.  She  threw  away  the  stick  and 
turned  to  go. 


BY  THE  WELL  143 

"Petrija!" 

Petrija  was  astounded  and  stood  as  though  dug  into 
the  ground. 

''Petrija,  sister,  forgive  me?" 

The  woman's  heart  melted,  trembled,  and  over- 
flowed. 

* '  Anoka,  my  soul,  God  will  forgive  you. ' ' 

"Petrija,  sister!" 

She  took  her  by  the  hand — sat  down  beside  her, 
embraced  her.     Both  buret  into  tears. 

How  sweet  was  their  sobbing — like  that  of  a  baby 
at  the  breast. 

Everything  was  silent.  Under  the  naked  sky  there 
was  no  other  sound,  only  the  sobbing  of  the  two  as 
they  kissed  each  other.  And  the  moon  seemed  to  lift 
his  eyebrows. 

"Petrija,  my  heart,  I  am  going  to  die!  You  will 
wash  me,  sister!  Put  enough  basil  with  me.  Bite 
an  apple  too  and  throw  it  into  the  coffin.  No  one  now 
loves  me  but  you." 

"Be  quiet,  foolish  one,  how  should  they  not  love 
you?" 

"No,  no,  I  know." 

"How  can  you  know,  my  darling,  when  you  have 
never  spoken  to  us  until  now?  I  would  die  sooner 
than  allow  anyone  to  speak  unkindly  of  you." 

They  sobbed  again  and  embraced  each  other. 

"But  grandfather " 


144  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Grandfather,  my  soul,  is  good  and  old.  Only  go 
to  him  alone  like  this,  and  you  will  see." 

"Well,  I  will  go.  Good-bye  my  heart.  If  I 
die " 

Petrija  put  her  hand  on  Anoka's  mouth. 

Anoka  removed  the  hand,  and  putting  it  round  her 
neck,  said:  "If  I  die,  do  not  speak  evil  of  me.  But 
now  go." 

"No,  I  will  not  leave  you  while  I  am  alive!" 

"But  I  pray  you,  as  I  pray  to  God " 

"But  where  are  you  going?" 

"Leave  me — I  am  so  happy!  Leave  me,  so  God 
help  you  and  your  child  also.  Leave  me.  You  do 
not  know  what  it  is  to  me!" 

Petrija  concealed  herself  behind  the  house  to  see 
where  Anoka  would  go ;  but  it  was  still  dark  and  she 
could  not  see  how  Anoka  went  to  the  door  of  the 
grandfather's  room  and  sat  on  the  threshold. 

The  grandfather  too  had  not  shut  his  eyes  the  whole 
night  through. 

The  first  cocks  crowed,  the  first  messengers  of  a  new 
day  and  of  new  life.  To  Anoka  their  song  had  never 
before  seemed  so  beautiful. 

The  grandfather  rose,  threw  off  the  quilt,  crossed 
himself,  drew  his  legs  under  him  and  remained  alone 
in  the  darkness  sitting  on  his  bed,  busy  with  many 
thoughts.  The  second  cocks  crowed.  The  grand- 
father rose  and  started  for  the  well.     On  the  thres- 


BY  THE  WELL  145 

hold,  but  with  difficulty  through  the  dim  dawu,  he 
caught  sight  of  the  form  of  a  human  being. 

"Who  are  you?" 

''I  am  Anoka,  grandfather.  I  want  to  die.  For- 
give me  if  you  can." 

The  grandfather  was  astounded  and  trembled. 

' '  My  child,  do  not  sin  before  God.  Do  you  see  this 
lock  of  hair  ?     No  sheep  has  whiter. ' ' 

Anoka  seized  the  comer  of  his  coat  and  kissed  it. 

"I  have  sinned  horribly  against  you  and  I  have 
disturbed  your  house.  Forgive  me  if  you  can,  for 
God's  sake." 

Nothing  is  easier  than  to  make  an  old  man  weep. 
Tears  came  to  his  eyes.  He  took  Anoka's  head  be- 
tween his  hands  and  kissed  her. 

"Come  here." 

She  went  behind  him  into  the  room. 

"Sit  here." 

She  sat  on  the  bench,  the  grandfather  on  the  bed. 

"Shell  those  peas  for  a  little  while." 

She  shelled  the  peas. 

The  grandfather  watched  her  contentedly  as  she 
shelled  them. 

Both  were  silent.  Only  the  heart  did  its  work  and 
day  broke. 

"Now  come  here." 

She  went  behind  him  to  the  stable  and  attended 
to  all  the  horses  as  he  showed  her.     She  showed  no 


146  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

fear  even  of  Blagoje's  horse,  which  was  uncertain, 
both  with  teeth  and  hoofs. 

**Now  come  here." 

He  went  in  front  of  her  once  more,  this  time  to  the 
pigsty.  She  broke  up  nine  pumpkins  and  threw  them 
to  the  pigs. 

The  household  had  waked  up.  They  were  coming 
out  one  by  one,  following  the  two  timidly  and  with 
wide  open  eyes.  But  they  took  care,  however,  that 
the  grandfather  and  Anoka  should  not  see  them. 
Arsen  was  so  disconcerted  and  embarrassed  that  he 
climbed  into  a  walnut  tree,  hid  himself  among  the 
leaves,  and  looked  on  at  this  never-before-seen  wonder. 

The  grandfather  had  become  younger.  He  seemed 
to  leap  over  the  ground. 

**Cometothe  well." 

They  came  to  the  well. 

*'Draw." 

Anoka  drew  up  the  bucket. 

*'Pour  it  out." 

Anoka  poured  it  out  from  a  gourd,  and  the  grand- 
father poured  out  the  whole  bucket  over  his  face  and 
head. 

"Now  dry  me." 

Anoka  smoothed  back  his  hair  and  began  to  dry  him. 
It  was  easy  to  wipe  away  the  water,  but  the  old  man's 
eyes  were  feeble,  and  his  tears  fell  without  ceasing. 


BY  THE  WELL  147 

The  grandfather  caught  sight  of  some  of  the  watch- 
ers iu  the  courtyard. 

* '  Come  here,  you !  Why  are  you  not  washing  ?  See 
Anoka  is  waiting  to  pour  out  the  water." 

A  kind  of  childish  satisfaction  played  over  his  face. 

"All,  all.     She  will  pour  it  out  for  all  of  you." 

The  men  and  women  approached  the  well  with  tim- 
idity, and  all,  when  they  had  washed,  said  **  thank 
you"  to  Anoka,  as  though  they  were  gentlefolk. 

Arsen  gathered  courage.  He  drew  nearer  to  the 
well,  spread  out  his  legs,  bent  forward  and  held  out 
his  hands: — 

"Now!" 

She  began  to  pour.     Arsen  was  in  the  ninth  heaven. 

' '  Is  that  how  you  pour  ?    All  up  the  sleeves ! ' ' 

"Wait  a  little,  it  will  come  all  right."  And  she 
pulled  up  his  sleeves  with  her  left  hand;  with  her 
right  she  tilted  the  gourd. 

"May  you  live  long!" 

Petrija  ran  from  one  sister-in-law  to  the  other.  All 
were  bathed  in  tears.  They  whispered  among  them- 
selves, waved  their  arms  and  beat  themselves  on  the 
breast. 

The  grandfather,  shaking  as  he  walked,  went  to  his 
room.  He  opened  a  coffer  and  took  out  a  necklace  of 
some  old  eagles.  He  put  the  necklace  and  a  little 
towel  in  his  breast  and  went  again  to  the  well. 


148  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

All  had  washed  and  Anoka  had  poured  out  for  them 
aU. 

Everything  was  wrapped  in  a  kind  of  mysterious 
holiness,  and  "the  voice  of  the  Lord  on  the  waters" 
sang  in  everyone's  ears.  If  a  gun  had  gone  off  sud- 
denly, they  would  have  begun  crossing  themselves.* 

The  grandfather  looked  at  them  all  with  kindly 
dignity. 

"And  is  no  one  pouring  out  for  her?" 

All  rushed  to  the  bucket. 

"Yes,  because  I  suggested  it.  Now  I  wish  to  pour 
out  for  her  myself.     Come,  my  child,  wash  yourself. ' ' 

I  do  not  know  whether  his  hands  or  Anoka's  heart 
trembled  most.  He  dried  her  with  his  towel.  He 
hung  the  necklace  on  her  neck. 

"Poor  child!  But  keep  in  mind,  all  of  you,  what 
I  said  to  you  last  night:  'He  who  troubles  her  in 
anything,  may  God  kill  him.'  " 

*  The  ceremony  of  great  Church  festivals  in  Serbian  countries 
is  announced  by  the  sound  of  guns.  The  passage  refers  to  the 
Day  of  Christ's  Baptism,  when  a  very  impressive  service  is 
performed  on  the  edge  of  the  water.  During  the  songs  and 
the  firing  the  community  stands  bareheaded. 


THE  KUM'S  CURSE. 
By  Janko  Veselinovich 


149 


Janko  Veselinovich  was  born  in  Sabach,  Serbia, 
and  graduated  from  the  Normal  School  for  primary 
teachei-s.  While  a  schoolmaster  in  a  village  school 
he  devoted  himself  to  reading  Serbian  books  to  com- 
plete his  inadequate  education.  The  example  of  Laz- 
aix)vich  inspired  him  most  of  all  and  he  began  to 
write  stories  which  were  very  sympathetically  re- 
ceived. Veiy  young,  full  of  talent,  and  popular  from 
the  very  beginning,  he  wasted  his  youth  and  his 
health  without  a  thought  of  the  morrow.  Then  pov- 
erty came  upon  him — ^he  had  only  a  small  government 
post  at  Belgrade,  or  a  job  as  editor  of  some  unim- 
portant review — and  illness.  The  struggle  to  live, 
and  the  miseries  of  political  life  under  the  regime  of 
the  two  last  Obrenovichi  (the  kings  Milan  and  Alex- 
ander) finally  brought  about  his  death  which  occurred 
in  1904,  Gifted  with  a  fertile  imagination  and  nat- 
urally prolific  he  wrote  half  a  hundred  stories,  six 
novels,  two  plays  and  various  literary  essays. 


150 


THE  Kmi'S  CURSE* 
By  Janko  Veselinovich 

Villagers,  like  townspeople,  beguile  the  long  winter 
nights.  Some  of  them  either  establish  themselves 
round  the  still  which  they  jokingly  call  the  priest, 
and  there  they  ''make  confessions";  or  they  collect 
at  someone's  house  and  there  they  drink,  sing  to  the 
gusla,  talk,  and  tell  stories. 

I  once  was  in  such  a  little  village.  There  was  a 
large  company.  We  had  drunk,  sung,  and  talked  to 
satiety.  One  of  the  company  begged  an  old  man, 
Ranko  Dragonovich  to  tell  us  something.  He  twisted 
his  moustaches,  drank  a  glass  of  wine,  drew  some  thick 
clouds  of  smoke  from  his  long  pipe,  and  began  to  tell 
this  story. 

I 

In  the  whole  of  our  village  there  is  not  an  older 
man  than  myself.  Whichever  one  of  us  is  here — I 
know  when  he  was  born.  I  remember  much!  I  re- 
member when  our  church  was  not  here  and  when  there 
was  an  old  one  there  in  the  graveyard.  I  remember 
when  Ravnje  was  invaded,  I  was  eight  years  old  then. 
I   remember  when   Lord  Milosh  was  chosen  prince, 

*  The  * '  Kum ' '  is  the  godfather  at  the  christening  and  also 
the  chief  witness  at  the  vvclding.  In  Serbia  the  kum  is  an 
object  of  particular  veneration. 

151 


152  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

when  he  was  driven  out,  and  when  he  came  again.  I 
remember  a  great  deal.  I  know  when  the  Turks  came 
over  there,  when  the  monks  went  from  village  to  vil- 
lage and  heard  confessions  and  beat  the  women  in 
order  that  the  women  might  not  deprive  them  of  any 
cuts  of  roast  meat — and  I  hated  them  worse  than  the 
Turks. 

And  today  I  recollect  when  the  captains  began  to 
judge,  as  they  do  now,  in  districts;  and  when  they 
began  to  appoint  the  mayors.  Before  that  there  was 
not  a  captain ;  but  the  village — that  is  the  villagers — 
proclaimed  a  man  mayor,  gave  him  a  staff,  and  he 
was  mayor  after  that  as  long  as  he  was  willing  to 
carry  on  the  work  honestly.  As  soon  as  he  began  to 
deal  falsely  we  turned  him  out  and  chose  another, 
That  is  how  it  was  done  before,  in  the  old  world. 

In  our  village  my  neighbour  Stanojlo  Puretich  was 
mayor.  He  was  indeed  rich  and  surrounded  with  a 
family — ^that  man!  There  is  nothing  of  that  kind 
today.  He  was  master,  then  there  were  his  four 
brothers,  then  two  of  his  nephews,  then  two  more 
and  a  son  unmarried,  three  marriageable  girls,  then 
wives,  children;  a  full  house  and  belongings  for  half 
a  village.  Fields,  meadows,  pastures  and  woods.  On 
the  fields  were  stubble  or  fruitful  maize  and  on  the 
pastures  fed  a  stud  of  horses  and  complete  herds  of 
oxen,  sheep,  and  pigs. 

Stanojlo  was  a  tall  man,  straight  as  a  candle,  stout 


THE  KUM'S  CURSE  153 

and  powerful.  One  had  only  to  glance  at  those  pow- 
erful hands  of  his  to  bow  before  him.  He  must  have 
been  about  fifty  years  old,  because  he  was  getting 
grey.  He  was  extraordinarily  strong  in  character. 
What  he  said  he  did  not  unsay,  even  though  it  might 
mean  the  loss  of  his  head.  He  paid  attention  to  no 
one ;  but  did  everj^thing  u"pon  his  own  judgment.  In 
his  house  no  one  dared  to  go  against  his  orders.  In 
the  community  it  was  the  same,  because  he  would  get 
angry  then  and  beat  everything  he  got  hold  of.  He 
generally  carried  a  whip  in  his  hand  and  would  beat 
whoever  he  could  reach  when  he  was  angry. 

There  was  no  master  like  him  in  the  world.  The 
people  and  the  children  were  like  him,  and  all  like 
angels.  He  just  got  up  in  the  morning — and  he  got 
up  early — and  called: — 

''Milisav!" 

The  eldest  brother  came,  and  he  then  allotted  the 
work,  and  each  one  went  off  to  his  task.  No  one  dared 
to  make  confusion !  Then  he  washed  himself,  crossed 
himself  several  times,  went  to  the  loft,  climbed  up  into 
it  and  gathered  maize  into  a  sack.  Then  he  sat  down 
and  shelled  it,  then  he  went  out  and  fed  the  little 
pigs  (this  was  his  favourite  work).  When  he  came 
back  he  called  the  daughter-in-law  who  was  serving 
him — she  was  generally  the  youngest  of  the  wives. 
She  came  and  poured  water  for  him,  and  when  she 
had   washed   his   hands   she   brought   his   breakfast. 


154  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

Whether  he  feasted  on  dry  meat  or  bacon,  or  fasted 
on  bean  soup — feast  or  fast — there  was  always  on 
a  little  plate  a  cake  white  as  snow  and  so  supple 
that  it  twisted  under  the  knife  like  a  strap.  He  took 
his  cake,  crossed  himself,  called  upon  God's  name  and 
His  Holy  Archangels,  and  bent  his  head.  Afterwards 
he  breakfasted.  When  he  had  eaten,  his  daughter-in- 
law  took  away  his  plate  and  served  him  with  wine. 
He  took  out  his  long  pipe,  put  out  his  hand  for  his 
tobacco  pouch  that  he  had  made  out  of  a  bladder,  and 
filled  his  precious  pipe.  His  daughter-in-law  brought 
him  a  live  coal  and  then  he  smoked. 

When  you  come  to  his  house  you  are  received  like 
a  bishop — God  forgive  me!  Just  glance  at  what  is 
done  among  those  people.  Stanojlo  generally  is  silent 
and  smokes ;  but  when  he  wants  anything  he  has  only 
to  cough  and  the  daughters-in-law  fly  as  though  they 
had  wings!  They  seek  round  with  their  eyes  to  see 
what  is  wanted — for  Stanojlo  says  nothing. 

And  you — you  have  only  just  to  mention  what  you 
want,  and  it  is  before  you  that  instant. 

For  instance:  You  would  drink  boiled  brandy — 
Just  say  so — and  one  is  free  to  ask  for  things  in 
Stanojlo 's  house — 

"Bring  boiled  brandy,  ray  child." 

And  immediately  it  is  before  you,  as  though  the 
woman  had  been  holding  it  in  her  lap  like  an  apple. 
There — that  is  how  Stanojlo  was  in  his  own  house. 


THE  KUM'S  CURSE  155 

And  in  the  village?  In  the  village  he  was  as  fierce 
as  in  his  house.  Formerly  there  was  no  court  of  jus- 
tice such  as  there  is  today;  but  the  court  then  was 
under  any  leafy  tree — either  in  front  of  the  mayor's 
house  or  in  the  middle  of  the  village.  It  was  there 
generally  that  the  mayor  gave  judgment  between  liti- 
gants who  came  to  him  with  disputes.  In  our  village 
— just  by  the  cross — ^there  was  such  a  tree.  There  is 
none  there  now. 

Stanojlo  went  out  to  the  cross.*  The  men  who  had 
anything  to  dispute  or  complain  about,  came  to  him, 
called  upon  God  and  greeted  him,  then  they  brought 
their  complaint  before  him.  Stanojlo  listened  to  each 
one  attentively  and  then  said:  "Let  such  and  such 
a  thing  be  done  in  such  and  such  a  way. ' '  And  so  it 
was. 

When  it  was  necessary  for  us  to  be  collected  to- 
gether either  for  a  conference  or  for  a  corvee  Stan- 
ojlo immediately — the  day  before  the  assembly — sent 
an  order  to  the  crier,  one-eyed  Veljko,  and  he  made 
it  known  to  the  people.  He  had  to  call  upon  the 
desert  places  and  to  be  heard  throughout  the  village. 
And  then — just  don't  come,  and  see  what  happens! 

Perhaps  you  would  defend  yourself  by  saying  that 
you  had  not  heard.  Stanojlo  would  just  look  at  you 
and  then  burst  out:  "Twenty-five  strokes.  Veljko 
told  him!    He  says  that  he  did  not  hear!" 

*Cros8roacl8  where  there  ia  generally  erected  a  great  cross. 


156  JUGO-SLAY  STORIES 

Beseech,  implore,  call  him  your  brother,  bring  down 
the  sky  upon  the  earth,  it  is  no  good.  "What  Stanojlo 
has  said  must  be,  even  if  by  reason  of  his  decision 
he  were  to  go  to  war  with  God.  Veljko  hisses  like 
a  serpent  and  thereafter  you  scratch  yourself  well  and 
hear  each  time  when  Veljko  calls. 

When  he  collected  a  tax,  he  marked  it  all  on  a 
tally-stick — and  then  he  knew  everyone  by  name — 
who  had  given  and  how  much  he  had  given.  And  in 
this  also  he  was  violent.     He  simply  said: — 

"A  week  from  today  I  wish  the  tax  to  be  in  my 
hands." 

And  then  he  mounted  his  white  horse,  seized  that 
cursed  whip,  and  the  man  who  did  not  give  would  be 
whipped  as  his  nobody.  Sometimes  this  meant  the 
man's  being  sold  up  to  pay  the  tax.  The  older  men 
loved  this  and  praised  Stanojlo  whenever  it  happened. 

"This  is  worth  while!  That  is  how  to  be  mayor! 
He  will  not  let  a  man  be  a  trouble  for  long.  Be  like 
this  or  like  that.  Beat  him  and  let  him  steam.  After- 
wards there  is  no  escape.  What  Stanojlo  says  must 
be — like  bread  if  you  wish  to  be  satisfied.  Assuredly 
other  villages  have  not  mayors  like  that." 

The  younger  generation  did  not  exactly  love  Stan- 
ojlo. He  did  not  please  them  because  he  was  too  self- 
willed  whether  he  had  or  had  not  the  right,  but  they 
did  not  dare  to  go  against  the  will  of  the  elder  ones. 

And  Stanojlo — he  was  mayor  as  he  had  been  pro- 


THE  Kmi'S  CURSE  157 

claimed.  No  one  could  have  had  any  conception  that 
anyone  could  be  found  to  oppose  him,  and  yet  such 
a  man  was  found. 


II 


It  was  his  kum  Sreehko  Sokovieh. 

Small,  grey,  red-faced,  with  some  front  teeth  miss- 
ing ;  but  a  brisk-walking  little  old  man  was  Sreehko — 
or  as  we  called  him  in  the  village — Chicha-Srechko.* 
God  rest  his  soul.  He  was  a  happy  little  old  man. 
He  could  never  have  a  discussion  with  a  man  without 
turning  round  like  a  weather-glass  and  beating  the 
ground  with  his  stick.  When  he  saw  that  you  were 
attending  and  were  coming  round  to  his  opinion,  he 
simply  did  not  know  what  to  do  for  joy.  It  was  as 
much  pleasure  to  him  as  though  he  had  obtained  God 
knew  what. 

Chicha-Srechko  was  of  great  importance  in  the  vil- 
lage. When  it  was  necessary  to  increase  anyone's 
barley,  they  would  immediately  call  Chicha-Srechko 
and  he  then,  happy  because  no  wise  man  was  willing 
to  do  anything  without  his  advice,  would  come  at  once 
and  would  speak  much  on  every  point  and  advise  that 
such  and  such  a  thing  should  be  done. 

He  would  never  actually  say  in  words,  however, 

*  * '  Chicha ' '  literally  means  an  uncle.  It  is  used  as  a  prefix 
of  affection  for  an  old  man.  "Chicha-Srechko,"  "Chicha- 
Jova. ' ' 


158  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

that  he  enjoyed  this; — rather  he  would  be  angry, 
wriggle  and  throw  himself  about,  and  say  to  each 
one  that  he  had  to  leave  his  work  to  go  there  and  mix 
himself  up  in  the  affairs  of  the  mayoralty — but  in 
the  end  he  did  it  for  love  of  the  community.  We  saw, 
however,  how  much  he  enjoyed  it,  how  he  thought 
that  with  his  remonstrance  he  was  concealing  his 
pleasure  from  us,  and  we  only  laughed  when  he 
turned  his  back  upon  us. 

On  one  occasion,  I  do  not  know  why,  he  had  a  dis- 
agreement with  his  godson,  Mayor  Stanojlo.  Stanojlo 
advised  something  and  Chicha-Srechko  did  not  ap- 
prove; but  began  to  prove  that  Stanojlo 's  advice  was 
not  at  all  sound.  Stanojlo — accustomed  to  having 
his  advice  accepted — could  hardly  bear  this  in  front 
of  people;  and  from  that  moment  he  hated  his  kum 
Srechko  and  was  on  the  lookout  for  a  suitable  op- 
portunity for  gratifying  his  desire  to  pay  him  back 
for  his  affront. 

Chicha-Srechko,  again,  began  gradually  to  insinu- 
ate against  Stanojlo — calling  him  ''the  self-willed." 
Wherever  people  were  gathered  together  talk  about 
Stanojlo  began  immediately.  The  younger  genera- 
tion was  exceedingly  anxious  that  there  should  be  a 
discussion  with  Chicha-Srechko. 

Stanojlo  heard  of  this.  He  went  almost  mad  when 
they  told  him  of  it. 

'Whv  should  he  alone  defy  me?    Why  are  the 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  159 

others  silent  and  he  alone  curses  me?  He  shall  pay 
me  for  that  at  once." 

So  Stanojlo  thought,  and  hardly  had  he  taken  this 
decision  when  he  held  back,  thinking: 

"What  shall  I  do  to  him.  The  man  is  old;  and 
also — also  he  is  my  kum.  Who  would  dare  to  do 
this?" 

Day  after  day  he  delayed.  The  men  went  on  with 
their  business.  It  seemed  that  Chicha-Srechko  was 
pacified;  but  again  little  by  little  there  grew  up  a 
murmur  against  Stanojlo,  and  Stanojlo  again  waited 
for  an  opportunity  to  pay  his  kum  Srechko  for  all 
this — and  that  opportunity  was  given  him. 

It  was  exactly  on  Ognjenja  Marija  (17th  July). 
It  was  a  general  custom  for  the  men  not  to  work  on 
that  day;  but  to  collect  beside  the  cross  and  to  talk 
there.  Both  Stanojlo  and  Srechko  were  there  with 
other  honest  householders.     They  sit  down  and  talk. 

''Who  is  that?"  said  Chicha-Jova. 

"Mirko,"  said  Chicha-Srechko  putting  his  hand 
over  his  eyes. 

"Which  Mirko?    Is  it  Stojich?" 

"Yes,  he." 

"What  is  he  hurrying  like  that  for?" 

"I  do  not  know,  God  be  with  me!"  said  Chicha- 
Srechko. 

And  at  that  instant  Mrko  was  among  them. 

"God  help  you!" 


160  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

' '  God  hear  you ! ' ' 

''What  are  you  doing?" 

"Why  we  are  sitting." 

"Why  are  you  so  covered  with  sweat?"  Chicha- 
Srechko  asked  him. 

"Well,  I  was  looking  for  you." 

"Me?" 

"Yes.  Those  boys  of  yours  who  look  after  the 
hedges  have  let  the  oxen  into  my  maize  and  it  is  all 
broken  down." 

"It  cannot  be!" 

"Come  and  see." 

"But  how  oould  it  be  allowed?" 

"How  indeed.  I  told  you  that  your  palings  up  to 
my  meadow  had  been  overturned  and  that  you  would 
have  to  put  them  up.  You  know — thanks  to  God — 
that  that  black  ox  'of  yours  is  a  thief. ' ' 

"Yes,  yes,  and  I  told  the  children  to  look  after  him, 
and  now  they  have  let  him  go.  There  is  much  dam- 
age, you  say?" 

"Very  much,  indeed." 

Stanojlo's  eyes  flashed. 

"Veljko!"   he   called. 

One-eyed  Veljko  came  up. 

"Have  you  given  notice  that  the  people  should 
guard  their  'own  stock  so  that  their  beasts  should  not 
go  out  and  do  damage?" 

"Yes,  truly,"  said  Veljko. 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  161 

"Did  you  say  that  I  would  punish  anyone  who 
should  let  his  stock  go  to  someone  else's  feed?" 

"I  did." 

"Well— Kum  Srechko?"  said  Stanojlo— hardly 
concealing  his  joy  at  having  Srechko  so  completely 
under  his  feet. 

' '  I,  godson,  I  also  told  my  people  and,  you  see,  they 
have  let  them  out." 

"And  what  kind  of  a  head  of  a  family  are  you  if 
your  young  people  do  not  obey  you?" 

* '  They  obey  me,  godson,  but  you  see,  children,  they 
played.  See.  I  will  pay  what  damage  there  is.  I 
will  not  repudiate  it. ' ' 

"I  know  you  will  pay !  Y-ou  will  have  to  pay.  But 
why  should  it  have  happened?" 

"But  it  will  not  any  more." 

"You  will  not  dare  to  let  it  happen  any  more! 
Now — did  you  hear  what  Veljko  gave  out — that 
everyone  who  let  his  beasts  do  damage  would  be  pun- 
ished?" 

"I  heard  it." 

"And  you  did  not  pay  attention,  eh?" 

"But  the  children—" 

"Veljko.     Prepare!" 

"What,  godson.  What?"  cried  Chicha-Srechko, 
springing  up  as  though  he  had  been  scalded. 

"What?    Five  and  twenty,  that  is  what!" 

Stanojlo  was  dreadful.    His  great  eyebrows  came 


162  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

down  over  his  eyes,  and  his  eyes  shone  like  two  stars. 
Chicha-Srechko  looked  at  him — looked — and  his  shirt 
hardly  trembled. 

''Five  and  twenty  for  whom?" 

' '  For  you. ' '     Stanojlo  hardly  answered. 

"For  me!" 

"For  you!" 

' '  For  -this  g-rey  hair  ? ' '  said  Chicha-Srechko  taking 
off  his  cap  and  holding  up  a  mass  of  grey  hair. 

"Yes!" 

' '  For  the  kum  who  held  you  in  his  arms  ? ' ' 

"For  my  kum  and  for  my  father  and  for  God,  and 
for  everyone  who  does  not  obey  me.     Down ! ' ' 

"I  \\dll  -pay,"  said  Chicha-Srechko. 

"Down!"  said  Stanojlo. 

"Down?" 

"Down!" 

"I  wiUnot." 

His  small  eyes  blazed  and  he  drew  his  sword.  He 
looked  around  him  and  cried; 

"Whoever  comes  to  me  is  a  dead  man.  Godson 
Stanojlo,  see,  I  will  pay  you  a  ducat  for  every  blow. 
You  see  this  grey  hair.  Look !  I  have  become  white 
and  have  never  yet  received  one  blow,  and  you — you 
wish  to  strike  me  five  and  twenty  times!" 

"Yes,  I  do  wish  it.     Veljko  hold  him!" 

Veljko  ran  up,  struck  Chicha-Srechko 's  hand  with 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  163 

his  staff — and  the  knife  fell  down.  Veljko  bound  him 
by  the  arms.     Men  sprang  forward. 

"What  do  you  want,  Stanojlo?"  cried  Chicha- 
Jova. 

Stanojlo  seized  his  staff,  sprang  upon  Jova  and 
cried  out: — 

' ' Back !  All  of  you !  Veljko,  take  him  to  the  whip- 
ping bench." 

The  throng  drew  back.  No  one  dared  so  much  as 
to  look  at  Stanojlo,  or  make  it  his  duty  to  prevent 
him  from  doing  what  he  intended !  Everything  was 
silenced.  It  seemed  as  though  you  could  hear  hearts 
beating.     Stanojlo  simply  shook  with  joy. 

"Not  upon  your  kum  and  Saint  John!"  cried 
Chicha-Srechko  when  they  had  brought  him  to  that 
ill-omened  plank  known  as  the  whipping  bench. 

"No,  not  upon  my  kum,"  said  Stanojlo  in  a  quasi- 
peaceful  voice,  and  he  took  off  his  cap  and  put  it 
upon  the  ground  far  from  himself. 

"See.     There  is  our  kumship  in  the  cap." 

"Godson,  let  me  pay." 

"You  are  going  to  pay  now." 

The  people  turned  their  heads  and  looked  into  the 
copse.  Veljko  took  Chicha-Srechko  who  besought 
him  up  to  the  last  moment,  and  threw  him  down  onto 
the  bench.  Then,  with  special  chains,  he  bound  his 
body  to  the  plank  by  the  arms,  legs,  and  shoulders. 
He  drew  back  to  choose  a  rod.     Chicha-Srechko  again 


164  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

pleaded;  but  Stanojlo  lifted  his  eyebrows,  and  only 
said  every  now  and  then ; 

*  *  See — The  kumship  is  in  the  cap. ' ' 


III 

One-eyed  Veljko  threw  the  broken  rod  away  and 
unbound  the  old  man  from  the  whipping:  bench. 
Chicha-Srechko  was  silent — lying  as  though  there 
were  no  life  in  him.  Veljko  pushed  him  from  the 
plank  to  the  ground.  The  old  man  sprang  up — ^with 
blood-shot,  weeping  eyes;  he  looked  at  the  assembled 
people,  cast  a  glance  at  Stanojlo  who  avoided  his 
eyes,  and  at  Veljko  who  stood  beside  Stanojlo  quietly 
scratching  his  head,  then  he  cast  his  eyes  down.  He 
was  silent  for  some  moments,  with  his  head  bent  down 
in  that  way;  his  breast  heaved  with  his  breathing, 
and  he  let  his  hands  fall  by  his  side.  All  of  a  sudden 
tears  came  to  him,  and  he  began  to  weep.  He  put 
both  hands  before  his  eyes,  came  up  to  the  cross  and 
bowed  before  it.  Then  he  r.aised  his  head,  looked 
over  the  assembled  people  and  spat  out; 

"Shame  upon  you.  Why  did  you  allow  such  a 
thing  to  happen  before  your  eyes?  Truly — you  are 
not  men!" 

He  tore  the  cap  from  his  head,  crossed  himself, 
kissed  the  cross  and  cried: — 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  165 

''Almighty  God!  Hear  the  voice  of  thy  serf  and 
listen  to  his  prayer. ' ' 

Then  he  looked  at  Stanojlo.     Stanojlo  trembled. 

"God  grant,  godson,  that  sorrow  await  you  for 
your  life.  May  your  happiness  be  turned  to  mourn- 
ing. May  your  seed  be  blotted  out.  And  you,  hero, 
may  you  not  die  until  you  are  given  up  to  me  to  faU 
before  me  on  your  knees  to  seek  pardon.  You  say 
our  kumship  is  in  the  cap — ^and  see,  you  have  denied 
it,  and  I  deny  it  too.     Now  we  are  no  longer  kums." 

Having  said  this  he  cast  the  cap  which  he  held  in 
his  hands  under  his  feet  and  trampled  upon  it.  Then 
he  passed  through  the  people  and  went  on  his  way  to 
his  house.  A  breeze  played  among  his  hair — white 
as  snow — and  the  people  followed  him  with  their  eyes 
shaking  with  horror. 


IV 

A  dead  silence  prevailed  for  some  moments.  No 
one  uttered  a  single  word.  The  people  just  eyed  each 
other  as  though  they  were  talking  with  their  eyes. 
Suddenly  there  began  a  noise  which  grew  steadily 
greater  and  greater.  The  voice  of  Chicha-Jova  could 
already  be  distinguished: — 

"Men,  Brothers,  can  this  be?" 

"Misfortune!"  cried  some. 


166  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Scandal!"  cried  others. 

' '  Shame ! ' '  cried  a  third  group. 

"How  could  he — in  that  way." 

"And  God  did  not  see  fit  to  kill  him!" 

"Nor  thunder  to  consume  him!" 

"To  beat  an  old  man  like  that!" 

'  *  And  the  kum  who  had  held  him  in  his  arms ! ' ' 

"If  he  does  not  pay  respect  to  his  kum  God  will 
not  pay  it  to  him!" 

"And  is  he  our  mayor?"  said  Chicha-Jova. 

* '  He  must  be  deposed, ' '  groaned  the  people.  ' '  Give 
his  staff  here!" 

* '  Give  it  to  Chicha-Jova ! ' '  cried  the  old  men. 

Stanojlo  was  standing  as  though  petrified.  He  did 
not  hear  the  shouts  of  the  people;  but  was  looking 
M'ith  a  long  glance  after  Chicha-Srechko.  He  did  not 
move  his  eyelids  at  all  and  his  eyes  were  dull  and 
glazed  like  those  of  a  corpse. 

"Stanojlo!" 

"Well?" 

"The  people  do  not  wish  for  you  any  longer  as 
mayor.     Will  you  give  your  staff  here?" 

He  looked  at  Chicha-Jova  in  such  a  way  that  Jova 
drew  back  several  paces. 

"The  people  do  not  wish  you  as  mayor!"  said 
Chicha-Jova  almost  choking. 

"They  do  not  wish  me?" 

"They  do  not  wish  you.  We  do  not  want  you !  Give 


THE  KUM'S  CURSE  167 

your  staff  here.  You  are  no  longer  mayor ! '  *  shouted 
the  people. 

Stanojlo  was  silent.  Then  Ivko  Chulobrk  went 
out  from  the  people — a  stout  and  powerful  giant. 
He  seized  the  staff  from  Stanojlo 's  hand  and  cried : — 

"People — Brothers!  Here  is  the  staff.  To  whom 
do  you  say  we  shall  give  it?" 

"To  Jova.     Chicha- Jova, "  cried  the  people, 

Ivko  held  out  the  staff  to  Jovan.  Jovan  took  it. 
Stanojlo  was  silent  with  hands  drooping  beside  him. 

"You  make  me  mayor,  Brothers?"  asked  Chicha- 
Jova. 

"Yes  Jova.    Yes  Chicha- Jova. " 

' '  But,  Brothers,  I  am  a  fierce  man. ' ' 

"But  you  are  not  heartless." 

"No.     That  I  am  not." 

"You  pay  attention  both  to  God  and  to  your  soul." 

"WeU,  you  know  me." 

"Yes,  we  know  you." 

"But,  Brothers,  I  seek  to  be  obeyed." 

"We  will  obey." 

"And  I  shall  work  again  with  a  conference." 

"So.     So." 

And  so  they  changed  the  mayor  in  a  moment. 

One-eyed  Veljko  immediately  went  up  to  Chicha- 
Jova. 

"What  do  you  want?"  Jova  asked  him. 

"But  you  are  mayor!" 


168  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

''And  Stanojlo?" 

"He  is  not  any  more." 

"But  how  can  you  be  erier  under  me?  Would 
you  give  Stanojlo  five  and  twenty?" 

' '  If  you  were  to  order  me ! "  said  Veljko. 

Stanojlo  simply  was  silent.  It  was  as  though  he 
had  not  heard  what  was  said  there,  as  though  this 
whole  discussion  did  not  concern  him  at  all.  Bowed 
at  the  cross,  with  limp  hands  and  wrinkled  forehead, 
he  meditated  upon  all  that  this  short  moment  had 
brought  forth.  It  seemed  as  if  his  crime  had  bitten 
into  him.  Thick  sweat  flowed  from  his  face  and  not 
once  did  he  move  his  hand  or  his  sleeve  to  wipe  it  off. 
Surely  things  had  not  come  to  such  a  pass  for  him. 
Finally  he  cast  a  glance  around  him.  All  standing 
round  looked  at  him  with  black  glances.  He  under- 
stood the  position  in  which  he  found  himself.  Sur- 
rounded by  such  a  throng  he  was  alone,  quite  alone. 
There  was  not  one  heart  for  him  there,  and  that  this 
was  hard  for  him  could  be  seen  from  his  laboured 
breathing.  Powerless  to  command  because  they  would 
not  obey  him.  Powerless  to  reconcile  them  because  he 
himself  had  not  been  merciful.  Having  no  power  to 
bear  these  glances  full  of  hate  as  well  as  the  grief  in 
his  heart,  he  was  compelled  to  move  away. 

He  moved  away  from  the  cross.  The  earth  seemed 
to  give  way  under  his  feet,  he  began  to  stumble.  Those 
same  people  who  a  short  moment  before  had  trembled 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  169 

before  his  shadow  now  looked  confidently  at  him.  Al- 
ready the  one-eyed  had  denounced  him,  and  twos  and 
threes  had  coughed  ironically. 

Stumbling  he  came  to  the  crossroads  and  stopped. 
He  would  have  stayed  there;  but  something  within 
himself  impelled  him  to  go  further.  He  did  not  look 
where  he  was  going — only  to  go — to  flee  from  this 
throng,  from  these  people. 

He  passed  along  the  whole  street.  Two  or  three 
dogs  barked  at  him  several  times.  He  went  out  into 
the  fields  and  rushed  like  the  wind  among  the  piled- 
up  sheaves  and  stooks — not  going  by  the  path  but 
through  the  straw. 

' '  What  have  I  done,  great  sinner  that  I  am !  Cursed 
be  my  brain.  Cursed  be  my  nature,  and  my  morn- 
ing's morning,  and  my  day's  day.  What  can  happen 
to  me — to  have  beaten  my  kum  who  christened  me? 
The  kum  is  greater  than  the  father.  He  cursed  me. 
What  was  that  he  said?  'May  your  rejoicing  be 
turned  to  mourning.    May  your  seed  be  blotted  out ! ' 

"And  a  kum  can  curse.  God  accepts  his  curse 
sooner  than  that  of  a  father  or  of  a  mother.  What 
a  kum  has  cursed  can  never  prosper.  And  I  have  an 
only  son.  I  have  my  Radoje  who  is  as  the  pupil  of 
my  eye!  He  is  my  happiness  and  my  joy  and  my 
fortune — everything.  'May  your  seed  be  blotted 
out!'  " 

He   trembled.       Something   cold  passed  over  his 


170  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

Avhole  body  from  head  to  foot.  His  knees  gave  way 
and  he  fell  like  a  stone. 

"Oh  God  my  Saviour,  I  beseech  Thee,  Preserve, 
Lord,  my  only  son,  my  only  joy,  my  house,  my  for- 
tune, my  Eadoje!  Kill  me,  me.  I  am  guilty.  Oh 
earth,  why  do  you  not  open.  Strike  me  with  thunder, 
Lord,  strike  the  ill-omened  one  who  has  raised  his 
hand  against  his  kum.  But  my  Radoje,  my  child — . 
He  is  still  young,  green.  I  beseech  you — ^he — he  is — 
he  must  still.  I  implore  Thee,  Father  of  Heaven, 
preserve — ! ' ' 

There  weeping  suffocated  him.  He  fell  on  his  knees 
on  the  ground  and  buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  A 
river  of  tears  rushed  to  his  eyes.  These  were  his  first 
tears  since  his  childhood. 

Blessed  is  the  man  whose  eyes  can  w^eep  tears. 
What  plaster  is  to  a  wound  tears  are  to  a  sick  heart. 
They  carry  pain  away  as  wind  carries  chaff. 

He  rose.  He  was  rather  more  quiet;  but  horror 
seized  him  again.    He  rolled  in  his  walk,  thinking: — 

"What  shall  I  do?  I  must  make  my  peace  with  my 
kum,  but  how '?  Who  will  broach  the  subject  to  him  ? 
I — I  cannot.  How  shall  I  come  before  his  eyes  ?  How 
dare  I  look  at  him?  Shall  I  ask  the  people  to  make 
peace  between  us?  No  one  will!  The  whole  world 
hates  me  and  God  hates  me.  And  I  myself  hate  my- 
self. But  I  must  carry  it  through  before  the  curse 
falls  upon  me.    But  see,  there  is  no  one  who  could 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  171 

help  me!  And  I  myself,  if  I  were  to  set  about  it 
could  not  finish  anything.  I  am  not  afraid  for  my- 
self, if  death  v^-ere  to  come  upon  me  it  would  be  very 
welcome.  But  Radoje — if  it  were  to  come  upon  him!" 

Once  more  despair  seized  him.  He  longed  to  turn 
his  back  by  force  upon  these  thoughts.  He  began  to 
think  of  something  else ;  but  came  back  to  his  former 
thoughts.  The  thought: — ''May  your  rejoicing  be 
turned  to  sorrow.  May  your  seed  be  blotted  out." 
could  not  be  driven  out  of  his  head. 

The  Sim  had  set  when  he  returned  to  the  village. 
An  evening  breeze  was  cooling  the  fever  of  the  day, 
the  women  were  standing  talking  at  their  doors, 
children  were  playing  in  the  road — collecting  the  dust 
into  little  piles. 

The  affair  had  already  been  heard  of  throughout 
the  whole  village  and  whoever  had  a  mouth  was  talk- 
ing of  Stanojlo  and  Chicha-Srechko — in  particular 
the  women — for  until  they  had  sifted  out  the  whole 
matter,  they  could  do  nothing. 

' '  Have  you  heard  what  happened  by  the  cross  today 
to  our  poor  friend  Srechko?"  one  was  saying. 

"Yes,  indeed.     I  heard  it  at  the  very  moment!" 

*'May  thunder  bum  him!  How  could  he  dare  to 
do  it,  and  actually  to  his  kum ! ' ' 

' '  And  why  did  you  expect  better  of  him  ?  He  is  a 
fiend.  I  said  so  to  my  husband  before — when  they 
made  him  mayor." 


172  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"They  say  that  he  cursed  him." 

"He  cursed  him,  yes,  what  do  you  expect!  It 
would  not  help  him,  thazik  Heaven,  even  if  he  were 
to  go  into  a  monastery  and  if  a  hundred  monks  were 
to  read  to  him!" 

' '  They  say,  also,  that  he  violated  the  kumship — that 
he  denied  it!" 

"And  what  do  you  expect!  Why  should  he  not 
deny  his  enemy  ? ' ' 

"Quiet,  siUy  one.     Here  he  is!" 

Stanojlo  walked  with  bent  head,  stooping.  He  went 
straight  by  the  path. 

' '  Run  away,  there  is  the  mayor ! ' '  said  a  child. 

The  children  turned  round.  One — the  eldest  of 
them,  said: — 

"The  mayor?  He  is  not  the  mayor  now.  My 
father  says  he  is  nothing." 

Saying  nothing  to  them,  he  passed  through  them 
and  went  to  his  house. 


If  thunder  had  struck  the  household  of  Stanojlo 
Puretich  it  would  not  have  aroused  such  consterna- 
tion as  that  aroused  by  the  news  that  Stanojlo  had 
beaten  Chicha-Srechko.  The  men  wandered  hither 
and  thither  and  uttered  only  a  hollow  sound.  The 
women  collected  their  children  round  them  as  brood- 


THE  KIBI'S  CURSE  173 

ing  hens  do  their  chickens  and  then  caressed  and 
kissed  them.  Each  one  looked  at  her  own  children 
with  tearful  eyes  for  they  knew  that  it  was  upon  the 
children  that  the  curse  would  fall  first  of  all.  The 
brothers  of  Stanojlo  were  discussing  how  the  one  way 
of  salvation  from  the  curse  was  to  split  up  the  house- 
hold. 

"And  we  will  not,  truly,  eat  any  more  from  the 
same  dish  with  him,  even  if  he  were  to  die,"  said 
Milisav. 

"Better  to  die,  brothers,  than  to  see  the  young  ones 
dying,"  said  Petar. 

"1  told  him  not  to  accept  that  cursed  mayoralty; 
but  he  railed  at  me  then  and  told  me  to  mind  my  own 
business,"  said  Kuzman. 

*  *  "What  he  has  done,  let  him  suffer  for  himself  also, ' ' 
said  Djuradj. 

"Well — have  we  decided  to  split  up?"  asked  Mili- 
sav. 

"We  have  decided." 

"Who  is  willing  to  tell  him  so?"  asked  Petar. 

"I,"  said  MUisav. 

"Why  did  he  bring  this  upon  himself  and  upon 
us!"  said  Kuzman. 

"I  said  from  the  very  first  that  he  was  not  the  man 
for  mayor,"  said  IMilisav. 

"You  said  so,  and  what  happened  to  you?  The 
same  as  to  me,"  said  Kuzman. 


174  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Why  isn't  he  here?"  asked  Petar. 

"I  don't  know." 

**Did  he  stay  by  the  cross?" 

"No.     They  say  that  he  went  out  to  the  woods." 

"And  he  is  no  longer  mayor?" 

"No.     It  is  Chicha-Jova  now." 

"It  is  dark  already.    Why  is  he  not  here?" 

At  that  moment  the  gate  clicked.  They  looked  up. 
Stanojlo  came  in  stooping.  He  passed  through  them 
with  no  greeting  and  went  into  the  house.  All  were 
silent  as  though  cast  in  a  mould.  They  waited  for 
him  to  come  out;  but  he  did  not  come. 

No  one  slept  that  night.  The  women  only  sighed 
and  the  men  were  silent,  smoking  their  pipes.  The 
night  passed,  day  had  almost  dawned.  Milisav  ex- 
pected that  Stanojlo  would  call  him  as  usual,  and 
give  him  orders  about  the  work.  He  waited,  waited, 
but  the  summons  did  not  come.  Finally  he  went  him- 
self into  Stanojlo 's  room.  Stanojlo  was  sitting  on  a 
bench,  he  had  buried  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  was 
silent.  His  wife  Stepanija  was  standing  beside  the 
stove.  He  did  not  raise  his  head  when  Milisav  opened 
the  door.  Milisav  coughed.  Still  he  did  not  raise 
his  head. 

* '  Stanojlo ! ' '  Milisav  called  to  him. 

"Well?"  he  said,  raising  his  head. 

Milisav  looked  at  him.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot, 
his  face  somewhat  more  lined,  and  his  hair  whiter. 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  175 

"Come  here." 

"What  shall  I  do  for  you?" 

'*We  have  something  to  discuss  with  you." 

"But  what?"  said  Stanojlo  transfixing  him  with 
his  glance. 

It  was  as  though  someone  had  caught  Milisav  by 
the  throat — his  voice  was  so  constrained. 

"Let  me  call  the  others  too." 

* '  Call  them,  then, ' '  said  Stanojlo. 

Milisav  went  out.  Very  soon  all  four  came  in. 
Stanojlo  rose  and  told  Stepanija  to  go  outside.  When 
they  were  left  alone  he  asked  them  in  a  harsh  voice : — 

"What  do  you  want?" 

'  *  We  want  to  split  up ! "  said  Milisav. 

"To  split  off  from  me?" 

"Yes.    That  we  should  split  off,"  cried  all  three. 

* '  I  want  to  say  something  to  you  myself. ' ' 

"What?"  they  asked. 

*  *  That  you  should  go  to  my  kum. ' ' 

"He  is  no  longer  your  kum.  People  say  that  he 
renounced  the  kumship.    Is  that  true?" 

' '  Yes — but — he — beseech  him — ' ' 

"And  you?" 

"I  dare  not." 

* '  Then  why  should  we  ?  " 

"Go — beg  him.     He  will  forgive  you." 

"What  do  you  say,  Milisav?" 

"I  dare  not." 


176  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Nor  dare  we!"  said  the  three.  "It  would  be 
better  to  cut  ourselves  off  from  you." 

* '  But,  I  implore  you. ' ' 

"We  dare  not!" 

"We  want  a  division  of  property,"  said  Djuradj. 

"You  may  have  everything!" 

* '  No.    Only  our  shares. ' ' 

"I  need  nothing." 

"You  may  not  need  it;  but  what  about  Radoje?" 
said  Kuzman. 

Stanojlo  bowed  his  head.    Then  he  said : — 

"Leave  him  whatever  you  will!" 

"We  must  think  it  out  well." 

"Yes,  that  is  right.  Go  and  discuss  it.  Here  is 
Radoje." 

Stepanija  flew  into  the  room  as  though  maddened, 
shrieking. 

"What  is  it?"  they  asked  her. 

"Kum  Srechko  is  dead!" 

If  a  bomb  had  fallen  amongst  them  they  would  have 
been  equally  overwhelmed.  Stanojlo  was  the  first  to 
come  to  himself. 

* '  Dead  ?    But  when  ? "  he  asked. 

"At  dawn,"  was  the  answer. 

Nothing  more  was  even  mentioned  of  the  further 
preservation  of  the  household.  This  house  was  under  a 
curse  and  they  must  leave  it.  The  property  was 
quickly  divided — no  one  wished  to  have  the  house. 


THE  KURI'S   CURSE  177 

Stanojlo  was  left  alone  with  Stepanija  and  Radoje. 

VI. 

Stepanija  had  been  ill  before,  and  the  news  of 
Chicha-Srechko's  death  struck  her  down  to  her  bed. 
She  became  fearfully  ill.  Everyone  who  saw  her  said 
she  would  never  leave  her  bed.  Stanojlo  was  quite 
struck  dumb.  The  world  paid  no  attention  to  him, 
every  living  person  fled  from  him,  and  he  himself  never 
went  among  people.  From  the  time  when  Stepanija 
fell  ill,  one  of  the  daughters-in-law  in  turn  came  from 
Milisav's  house  to  keep  things  in  order. 

Stepanija  grew  worse  and  worse.  One  evening  she 
closed  her  eyes  forever. 

That  event  to  a  certain  extent  reconciled  the  neigh- 
bours to  Stanojlo.  Amongst  us,  as  you  know,  there  is 
a  custom  of  inviting  guests  both  on  occasions  of  re- 
joicing and  of  mourning,  so  the  neighbours  came  to 
accompanying  St-epanija  to  her  last  home. 

The  very  appearance  of  Stanojlo  astonished  them. 
It  was  as  though  he  felt  that  the  fulfilment  of  the 
kum's  curse  was  beginning.  He  was  convinced  that 
in  the  course  of  the  year  yet  another  would  leave  the 
house  for  the  grave,  because  the  eyes  of  the  dead 
body  were  open,  and  that  was  a  sign  that  someone  else 
would  die.  His  heart  was,  as  it  were,  a  boiler  at  the 
boil.     An    internal   fire   consumed    him,   and   what 


178  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

boils   inside   a   man   is   always   visible   on   his   face. 

Seeing  what  condition  Stanojlo  was  in,  the  neigh- 
bours began  to  pity  him,  and,  the  world  is  the  world. 
It  easily  forgets  today  what  happened  yesterday. 
"What  it  praised  yesterday  it  will  condenm  today,  and 
what  it  blamed  yesterday  it  will  praise  today.  As  it 
is  said: —  ** Another  day,  another  custom." 

"Why,  man,  I  could  never  have  imagined  that  a 
man  could  change  so ! "  said  one. 

"And  I,  brother.  But  you  never  know,"  said  a 
second. 

"I  know  now.    Why  here  is  Stanojlo." 

"And  he  has  got  thin,"  said  a  third. 

"And  pale,"  added  tho  first. 

"Then,  you  see,  men,  that  he  was  not  exactly  a  bad 
man,"  said  the  second. 

"Only  fierce." 

'  *  That  is  what  he  is  paying  for  now. ' ' 

"But,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  dead  Stepanija's  eyes 
were  open." 

"Not  really?" 

"Yes,  truly." 

"Then  another  from  the  house." 

* '  That  will  be  Stanojlo.  See  how  he  is  already  smell- 
ing of  the  funeral  cake. ' ' 

Old  Chicha-Chira  shook  his  head  in  sign  of  disagree- 
ment. 

"What  is  it,  Chicha?" 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  179 

"I  am  afraid  for  the  child." 

"But  the  child  is  as  healthy  as  a  dogbeny  tree." 

"There  is  the  curse,  my  sons.  The  dead  Srechko 
said — it  seems  to  me — 'May  your  seed  be  blotted 
out!'" 

"Yes." 

"Well!"  said  Chicha-Chira,  once  more  shaking  his 
head. 

"Here  is  Stanojlo." 

He  came  among  them  and  asked  them  whether  they 
had  brandy  in  their  flasks. 

They  buried  Stepanija.  Stanojlo  gave  her  every- 
thing in  order,  the  funeral  feast,  the  feast  on  the  third 
day,  the  feast  on  the  fortieth,  the  feast  at  the 
half  year,  and  the  feast  at  the  year.  When  it  was  all 
finished  he  gave  his  mind  to  marrying  Radoje.  And 
it  was  indeed  time.  The  house  had  been  without  wo- 
men for  a  year,  and  a  house  without  women — ^we 
know  what  that  is ! 

And  that  Radoje  of  his  was  a  fine  young  man,  in 
the  perfection  of  health  and  strength.  The  down  on 
his  upper  lip  was  getting  black  and  when  a  little  be- 
gan to  appear  on  his  chin,  the  falcon  shaved  it.  A 
good  dancer,  a  good  flute  player,  a  good  singer,  a 
happy  temperament,  you  could  get  what  you  wished 
from  him.  The  girls  forgot  the  curse  that  was  on  him 
when  they  saw  him. 

When  he  looked  at  Radoje,  Stanojlo  began  to  forget 


180  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

his  troubles.  He  began  to  go  among  people  again ;  he 
even  was  reconciled  with  the  sons  of  Srechko. 

Stanojlo  began  to  give  his  attention  to  girls,  and  he 
found  one  in  Selici.  The  girl  was  exactly  suitable  to 
the  man,  and  in  form  they  were  as  alike  as  box  trees. 

Stanojlo  had  already  invited  his  wedding  guests. 
There  was  a  flask  decorated  with  a  chain  of  old  Aus- 
trian coins.  He  invited  also  Jovan,  the  son  of  Chicha- 
Srechko,  to  be  kum ;  but  he  said  that  his  father  on  his 
deathbed  had  made  him  swear  that  he  would  not  be 
kum.  He  promised,  however,  to  come  as  a  wedding 
guest. 

Stanojlo  made  Chicha-Jova  the  mayor,  kum.  The 
heart  of  Stanojlo  rejoiced.  The  feet  of  the  old  man 
became  younger.  He  made  preparations,  bought  furni- 
ture and  ran — which  did  not  seem  like  him. 

*  *  0  God,  thanks  be  to  Thee !  Give  me  still  enough 
life  to  see  and  to  know  that  the  smoke  is  twisting  from 
his  chimney,  that  there  will  be  someone  to  celebrate  my 
burial.  And  then,  then  let  me  die,  for  I  shall  have 
no  more  joy  to  wait  for ! ' ' 

So  Stanojlo  prayed  to  God;  but,  in  the  midst  of 
that  prayer,  there  darted  through  his  head  like  a  red 
hot  rod,  the  kum's  curse,  and  the  old  man  trembled,  his 
nerves  died,  and  he  onl}^  repeated  without  any  kind  of 
conviction,  almost  unconsciously,  the  words : — 

*  *  God  is  good.  He  will  hear  my  prayer ! '  * 

His  first  idea  again  prevailed  and  as  though  in  op- 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  181 

position  to  it,  he  repeated  the  bitter  words.  He  wished 
by  so  doing  to  beat  out  from  his  head  the  idea  that  was 
assailing  him. 

VII. 

The  actual  day  came.  Stanojlo  rose  early,  and 
happy  and  yet  sorrowful,  wandered  through  the  court. 
It  was  one  of  those  beautiful  autumn  days.  The  wed- 
ding guests  were  beginning  to  assemble.  The  kum 
came,  the  chief  wedding  guest  came,  the  dever  (Ra- 
doje's  best  friend — son  of  a  certain  Krsman  Petrovich, 
who's  name  was  Siraa)  and  the  other  gaily-dressed 
wedding  guests.  The  chief  wedding  guest  led  in  the 
musicians.  There  was  a  violin,  cymbals,  a  tambourine 
and  a  great  drum ;  but  there  was  no  sound.  The  chief 
wedding  guest  came  to  Stanojlo  after  the  wedding 
guests  had  dined  and  said : — 

"Let  us  start." 

"Go  ahead.    Where  are  you  going,  Radoje?" 

"I  am  going  to  fetch  pistols  for  my  pobratim." 

"Very  well,  go." 

They  turned  away.  There  was  singing,  rejoicing. 
You  should  have  seen  those  forty  horsemen — all  pick- 
ed men! 

Pistols  fired,  the  wedding  guests  sang,  everything 
resounded,  Stanojlo  wept  for  joy.  Then,  brushing 
away  his  tears  with  his  broad  sleeve,  he  said : — 


182  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

' '  What  is  the  matter  with  me,  that  I  begin  to  weep  ? ' ' 

"Why,"  said  the  kum.    "It  is  for  joy." 

"Yes,  it  is  for  joy." 

"May  you  not  know  tears  of  a  different  kind!" 

"God  grant  that!" 

At  that  moment  there  flashed  through  his  head  again 
the  kum's  curse,  and  as  though  to  strangle  that  idea, 
he  sang: — 

* '  The  mother  sent  Mara  under  the  mountains, 
The  mother  sent  her ;  but  IMara  did  not  wish  it ! 
While  I  am  alive,  mother,  I  will  not  go  under 

the  mountains, 
Under  the  mountains  the  Turks  often  go." 

"What  can  that  be,  kum?"  said  Chicha-Jova. 

The  riders  had  sprung  down  from  their  horses. 
They  rushed  to  the  spot — and  there  was  something  to 
see !    Radoje  lay  dead.    In  his  hand  was  a  pistol. 

' '  How  did  it  happen  ?    What  is  this  ? ' ' 

The  affair  became  clear  immediately. 

Radoje  had  told  his  pobratim  Sima  to  fire  the  pistol 
because  they  were  near  the  girl's  house.  He  obeyed, 
but  the  pistol  missed  fire.  Radoje  told  him  that 
the  pistol  had  already  been  loaded ;  but  that  he  must 
pack  up  the  powder  beside  the  flint.  He  did  so; 
packed  it,  pulled  the  trigger,  it  ignited,  and  only  the 
gunpowder  flared  up  to  the  flint.    Radoje  took  the 


THE  KUM'S   CURSE  183 

pistol  to  see  whether  it  was  loaded  and  just  as  he  put 
the  barrel  to  his  mouth,  the  pistol  fired,  and  he  fell 
dead.  The  pistol  had  been  filled  already,  but  it  was 
not  clean,  and  the  fire  kept  first  of  all  in  the  touch 
hole,  and  afterwards  the  gunpowder  caught — as  was 
the  custom  with  flintlocks. 

Great  and  small  wept.  Stanojlo  alone  had  no  tears. 
He  stood  like  a  rock — dumb.  He  put  his  hands  under 
his  belt  and  looked  at  his  only  son  as  he  lay  with 
shattered  head,  all  bathed  in  blood.  Who  knows  what 
thoughts  turned  in  his  brain !  That  only  he  can  know 
who  has  suffered  as  Stanojlo  had,  and,  be  it  said,  I 
would  not  wish  that  for  anyone. 

Stanojlo  suddenly  turned,  drew  a  second  pistol 
from  the  belt  of  the  dever,  cocked  it,  put  it  against  his 
forehead  and  before  they  could  seize  him,  fired  it.  It 
scattered  his  brain  over  those  who  stood  round,  and 
instead  of  one — there  now  lie  two  corpses — father  and 
son. 

The  wedding  guests,  with  open  eyes,  watched  the 
whole  of  this  scene  and  when  it  was  over,  Chicha-Jova 
spoke. 

"In  vain,  my  children.  What  must  be,  must  be — 
and  a  kum  can  curse  like  a  mother  when  she  withdraws 
her  breast." 

There.    That  is  ' '  The  Kimi  's  Curse. ' ' 


POVARETA 

a  tale  fkom  a  dalmatian  island 

By  Simo  Matavulya 


185 


SiMO  Matavulya  was  born  in  1852  at  Sebenico, 
Dalmatia.  He  was  a  school  teacher  in  the  Dalmatian 
villages  and  in  Montenegro  he  became  an  instructor 
in  (the  Lycee.  When  he  came  to  Belgrade  in  1857 
he  was  an  instructor  there  also  and  later  on  a  journal- 
ist.    He  was  a  member  of  the  Serbian  Royal  Academy. 

Matavulya  wrote  thirty  or  forty  stories,  two  novels, 
two  plays,  some  books  of  travel  and  his  memoirs.  He 
also  translated  the  comedies  of  Moliere  and  some  of 
the  tales  of  De  Maupassant.    He  died  in  1908. 


186 


POVARETA 
By  Simo  Matavulya 

Between  the  town  and  the  island,  the  calm  sea  was 
as  smooth  as  glass  in  the  reflection  of  the  hot  sun, 
which  was  already  sinking  in  the  west.  A  boat  was 
approaching  the  island,  with  two  men  in  it,  one  row- 
ing, the  other  sitting  at  the  rudder.  And  although  it 
was  early  in  April,  the  sun  was  burning  right  in  their 
eyes,  and  they  turned  their  heads  towards  the  hills, 
of  which  the  more  distant  were  still  capped  with  snow. 
The  boat  was  heavy ;  the  rower,  a  man  of  middle  age, 
looked  more  like  a  porter  than  a  boatman,  while  the 
man  at  the  rudder  was  young,  tanned  and  stalwart, 
dressed  in  naval  uniform.  As  they  were  drawing 
away  from  the  town,  the  old  man  plied  him  with  ques- 
tions, asking  who  he  was,  where  he  came  from,  whom 
did  he  know,  how  long  had  he  been  in  the  service,  but 
receiving  no  answer,  at  length  relapsed  into  silence. 
For  the  young  islander,  Yuray  Lukeshich  from  Kra- 
pan,  was,  like  his  fellow-islanders,  taciturn,  and  dis- 
inclined to  be  conversational.  He  simply  sat  quietly 
and  smoked,  looking  at  the  great  world  around  him, 
the  sea  and  the  sky. 

Little  by  little  the  outlines  of  the  island  became  dis- 
cernible. First  they  distinguished  a  wood,  and  a  high 
bell-tower;  that  is  at  one  end  of  the  island,  while  the 

187 


188  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

\allage  is  at  the  other.  An  age-old  pine-forest  with  a 
monastery  distinguish  the  island  of  Krapan  from  all 
the  others. 

The  ruddy  glow  behind  Krapan  suddenly  became 
more  brilliant ;  the  gulls  began  to  dip  into  the  surface 
of  the  water  more  frequently,  and  shoals  of  dolphins 
to  shoot  past  the  boat.  That  roused  the  young  man 
from  his  reverie. 

'*In  God's  name!"  he  muttered,  and  took  the  star- 
board oar  from  the  old  man. 

Soon  the  boat 's  keel  grated  on  the  sands  of  the  land- 
ing-place and  at  the  same  moment  the  bells  of  the  mon- 
astery began  to  boom  out  their  evening  call  to  sei*vice. 
Yuray  sprang  ashore  and  stood  for  a  moment  bare- 
headed, in  prayer.  And  the  old  man,  before  pushing 
off  again,  raised  his  cap  in  respect  to  the  "Lord  of 
Angels. ' ' 

With  quick  steps  the  sailor  walked  to  the  street 
which  might  be  called  the  main  one,  as  there  are  two 
others,  but  they  are  side  streets  and  much  shorter. 
The  houses  are  of  stone,  dark  with  age,  in  one  or  more 
colours,  with  medium-sized  windows  and  green  shut- 
ters. Scarcely  one  was  without  a  little  courtyard  for 
the  donkeys  and  the  store  of  dried  old  vine-stumps, 
dug  up  for  firewood.  If  the  young  man  had  been  a 
stranger  who  had  chanced  to  come  to  the  little  island, 
he  would  certainly  have  been  startled  to  find  the  vil- 
lage deserted,  with  not  a  living  soul  in  sight,  nor  the 


POVARETA  189 

sound  of  a  human  voice,  as  though  a  plague  had  carried 
off  all  the  inhabitants,  and  the  smoke  was  rising  from 
deserted  hearths.  But  Yuray  never  noticed  this,  for 
he  knew  that  almost  all  his  folk  were  in  their  gardens, 
which  are  across  the  water  in  the  villages  of  Bazhina 
and  Yadrtovats. 

His  home  was  at  the  end  of  the  main  street.  He 
came  to  the  back  and  walked  quietly  round,  when  he 
found  a  little  girl  of  seven  or  eight  standing  on  a  high 
pile  of  vine-boughs  over  by  the  wall  of  the  yard.  When 
he  came  towards  her,  just  as  though  he  had  fallen  from 
heaven,  the  child  wanted  to  scream,  but  the  sailor 
whispered,  * '  Yoyi ! ' '  and  put  his  finger  to  his  lips,  and 
opened  his  arms,  saying: 

"Come,  jump  now,  one!  two!  three!" 

The  little  girl  jumped  into  his  arms.  Interrupting 
her  kisses,  Yuray  asked  her: 

"What  were  you  doing  on  the  wood-pile?  And 
where  is  Mummy?" 

"Mummy  is  in  the  kitchen,"  answered  Yoyi,  hold- 
ing his  hand  and  dancing  for  joy.  *  *  And  so  you  have 
come  home !  I  jumped  down  for  Mish  said  I  would 
not  dare." 

Yuray  took  her  into  the  yard,  saying: 

"You  should  not  jump  from  so  high,  that  is  not 
good  for  little  girls.  And  Mish  is  a  young  rascal  to 
dare  you.  Come  along  now,  quietly,  and  let's  give 
Mummy  a  surprise." 


190  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Let  us  jump  at  her,"  whispered  Yoyi. 

Yuray  stood  at  the  door  behind  the  grond  floor 
room,  which  occupied  the  whole  length  of  the  house. 
The  two  windows  opposite  were  wide  open  and  that 
gave  light  enough.  His  eyes  took  in  everything;  all 
was  in  its  own.  place,  just  as  he  had  left  it,  almost  the 
same  as  his  ancestors  had  left  it ;  the  shelves  with  the 
pots  and  pans,  two  big  walnut  chests,  and  a  long  oak 
table,  with  a  large  crucifix  above  it,  a  bench  and  some 
three-legged  chairs.  His  glance  rested  on  the  outline 
of  a  woman  who,  near  the  hearth,  had  turned  her  face 
towards  the  fire.  Yuray  gave  a  little  cough,  the  wo- 
man turned  round,  stood  still  a  moment,  and  they  met 
between  the  windows. 

They  exclaimed  at  once : 

'' In  God 's  Name,  Yuray ! " 

''Mother!    Darling  mother!" 

After  a  first  embrace,  they  gazed  into  each  other's 
eyes,  those  small,  clear,  blue  eyes  which  each  genera- 
tion in  our  islands  hands  down  faithfully  to  the  next, 
just  as  they  transmit  the  short  head  and  rounded  face, 
joy  of  life,  sturdy  faith,  lack  of  imagination  and  re- 
stricted vocabulary.  Yuray 's  mother,  Lutsa,  looked 
more  like  his  elder  sister,  hardly  ten  years  older,  cer- 
tainly not  more.  They  both  had  the  slightly  blunt 
nose,  short  rounded  chin,  rosy  and  white  cheeks;  in 
fact,  almost  the  only  difference  between  them  lay  in 


POVARETA  191 

the  earrings,  which  the  mother  wore  in  both  ears,  but 
the  lad  only  in  the  right  one. 

Then  they  began  a  whole  series  of  questions  and 
answers,  all  beginning  with  "Why,"  as  the  islanders 
do  when  they  are  moved. 

"Why,  how  are  you,  mother?" 

"Why,  I  am  well  enough,  Yuray,  and  how  are  >ou  ? ' ' 

"Why,  I  am  fit  and  well;  and  how  is  dad?" 

"Why,  dad  is  quite  well  too." 

"Wliy,  how  is  Mish?" 

' '  Why,  ]\Iish  is  well  too,  and  quite  grown  up. ' ' 

The  mother  was  silent  a  moment,  and  took  the  big- 
gest three-legged  chair,  which  for  centuries  had  been 
the  special  one  of  the  head  of  the  family,  and  dragged 
it  near  the  fire.  The  lad  sat  down,  and  began  to  roll  a 
cigarette.  His  mother  began  to  scrape  some  fish  in  a 
bowl. 

Lutsa  stooped  low  over  her  work  and  when  she  spoke 
again,  her  voice  was  shaky,  as  though  very  tired. 

"But  you  wrote  that  you  would  not  come  for  an- 
other ten  days." 

"Yes.  I  took  you  in  ...  to  give  you  a  little 
surprise. ' ' 

"And  have  you  been  right  round  the  world?" 

"Not  quite  round,  but  a  very  long  way,  right  away 
to  Omerika." 

"And  have  you  seen  all  sorts  of  countries?" 

"All  sorts." 


192  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"And  black  men?" 

"Yes,  and  yellow  too  .  .  .  And  has  the  har- 
vest been  a  good  one?" 

"No,  hail  spoilt  the  grapes  and  we  had  only  thirty 
barrels  of  wine  and  six  of  oil." 

After  another  pause,  Yuray  said : 

"Why,  what  news  is  there?" 

As  his  mother  did  not  reply  at  once,  he  added : 

"And  what  news  of  Maritsa?    Well,  mother?" 

"Not  good  news,  my  son,"  muttered  his  mother  in 
reply. 

Yuray  sprang  up  and  cried : 

"Lord  of  Angels!    What  is  it?" 

"It  is  not  good  news,  no — ^no — ,"  repeated  the  wo- 
man, shaking  her  head,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"By  Christ's  Passion!  mother,  what  is  the  matter? 
Why  do  not  you  speak.    Is  she  ill?" 

"She  has  been    ..." 

"What— dead— ?" 

"Yes  ..." 

Yuray  sank  upon  his  chair.  Livid,  he  stared  aghast 
at  his  mother  for  a  moment,  and  could  scarcely  utter : 

"Is  it  really  true?" 

'  *  Yes, ' '  affirmed  his  mother,  wiping  a  tear  from  her 
eyes.  For  a  long  time  the  lad  sat  and  sobbed,  exclaim- 
ing: 

"Oh,  mother!     Oh,  mother!" 

At  length  he  asked : 


POVARETA  193 

"By  Jesus'  Wounds!    What  was  the  matter?" 

"A  tumour  formed  under  the  right  arm.  Old  Ma- 
tiya  took  her  to  the  town  to  the  doctor,  but  he  at  once 
said,  'It  is  not  well' :  then  Matiya  took  her  to  the  wise 
women,  old  Grmina,  and  she  said,  'It  is  not  well' :  then 
Matiya  performed  a  vow  and  walked  barefoot  to  the 
Lord  of  Angels.  But  nothing  availed.  It  is  now  eight 
days  since  her  sweet  young  body  lies  rotting  in  the 
blessed  earth." 

"Her — Oh,  mother!  Have  you  been  to  the  poor 
girl's  grave?" 

"God  help  thee  my  poor  boy!  Except  myself,  no 
one  knows  that  you  had  chosen  her ;  nor  did  she  her- 
self, poor  child,  know." 

"Povareta!  Povareta!"  cried  Yuray,  burying  his 
face  in  his  hands.  "My  poor  little  girl!  And  she 
never  knew  that  I  had  vowed  my  soul  to  her,  that  I 
was  ever  thinking  of  her,  on  the  sea,  in  Omerika,  and 
even  when  on  duty.  Look,  yesterday  in  the  town  I 
bought  a  ring  for  her. ' ' 

He  stood  up  and  out  of  his  breeches  he  took  a  box 
with  a  golden  ring,  which  he  handed  to  his  mother. 
And  again  he  sat  down  and  wept. 

"Mother,  mother,  I  will  die  too." 

"God  help  thee,  crazy  child!"  cried  Lutsa,  putting 
the  ring  into  the  deep  pocket  of  her  skirt.  "Are  you 
a  Christian  or  have  you  turned  Jew  ?  Are  you  going 
to  work  against  God's  will  ?    Come,  here  come  our  men. 


194  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

It  would  be  a  shame  if  you  did  not  go  to  meet  them. 
And  it  would  be  a  greater  shame  if  men  loiew  why  you 
are  mourning,  for  you  never  claimed  her  hand,  nor  is 
it  known  that  you  intended  to  when  you  came  home. 
Say  your  prayers  for  her  soul,  and  go  to  meet  the 
boats." 

She  brought  a  basin  of  water,  and  he  washed  his 
hands  and  bathed  his  eyes,  and  rather  abashed,  and 
taking  his  little  sister,  went  out  by  the  same  way  he 
had  come. 

The  little  landing-place  was  already  full  of  craft 
and  resounded  with  men's  cries  and  donkey's  braying, 
for  every  ^^  gay  eta"  of  Krapan  (that  is  a  boat  of  over 
a  ton,  with  the  bows  decked  over),  carried  a  donkey 
laden  with  firewood.  It  was  Saturday,  so  the  men 
were  returning  rather  later. 

His  heart  froze  when  among  the  first  he  saw  IMatiya 
wearing  a  black  cap,  and  his  two  daughters  with  black 
veils.  He  felt  it  keenly  when  one  of  them  recognised 
him  and  called  out : 

"See,  that  sailor,  why,  it  is  Aunt  Lutsa's  Yuray!" 

That  was  Pava  Tanfara,  Maritsa's  sister,  and  very 
like  her. 

As  all  were  busy  collecting  their  tools  and  getting 
their  donkeys  ashore,  hardly  anybody  noticed  him,  but 
he  quickly  scanned  them  all,  the  Grms,  Lukeschiches, 
Yarans,  Tanfaras,  Prebundas,  Yugars,  with  all  their 
families  and  young  men,  and  then  he  felt  he  must  cry 


POVARETA  195 

out:  ''And  where  are  you,  Loveliest  Flower  of  Kra- 
pan,  Maritsa  Tanf ara  ?  Where  are  you,  coining  from 
your  garden,  that  I  may  hear  your  little  silver  voice, 
and  gaze  upon  your  slender  figure,  that  white  face 
and  those  dear  black  eyes  ? ' ' 

Marko  Lukeshich  had  made  his  boat  fast  when  his 
son  came  up  to  him  from  behind.  The  "old  man," 
lean  and  tough,  about  forty -five  years  old,  was  drag- 
ging his  donkey  Eizhan  by  the  halter,  while  ]\Iish  was 
pushing  his  hind  quarters.  It  was  vain  for  Yoyi  to 
keep  calling  out:  "Yuray  has  come  home!  Here  he 
is ! " ;  neither  of  them  turned  their  head  until  Rizhan 
had  jumped  ashore  with  his  load.  Then  Mish,  a  lively 
lad  of  sixteen,  embraced  his  brother  and  refused  to  be 
separated  from  him.  But  Marko  simply  shook  hands 
with  Yuray^  holding  out  a  grimy  fist,  saying: 

* '  Hullo !  A  little  surprise,  eh  ?    And  how  are  you '« ' ' 

"I  am  well  enough,  dad,"  answered  Yuray,  shaking 
his  father's  hand,  "how  Mish  has  grown!" 

"Like  a  weed,"  said  the  man,  and  he  held  a  burning 
match  to  Yuray 's  face  before  lighting  his  pipe.  After 
a  puff  or  two,  he  put  his  hand  on  Yuray 's  shoulder  and 
said : 

"Well,  what  is  all  the  trouble  about?" 

"Why,  dad?" 

"Because  your  face  is  white  and  pale,  and  your  eyes 
all  red.    Why,  young  Yurega,  who  came  home  from 


196  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

the  navy  six  weeks  ago,  told  us  that  you  were  as  red 
as  a  rose. ' ' 

"I  liave  not  been  quite  myself  since  yesterday," 

The  villagers  began  to  pass  them,  and  even  in  the 
dark  his  uniform  attracted  attention.  Voices  could 
be  heard  saying:  ''Is  that  young  Yuray?"  ""Why, 
yes,  it  is  Yuray,"  and  "IIullo,  Yuray,  how  are  you?" 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Marko  never  hurried,  even  old 
Rizhan  the  donkey  knew  this,  and  when  the  crowd  had 
passed  by,  he  went  on  alone.  Yoyi  and  IMish  took  their 
brother  by  the  arm,  while  the  father,  crunching  the 
gravel  as  he  walked,  began  to  tell  his  son  all  about  the 
past  summer,  about  their  work,  what  they  had  spent, 
and  all  the  little  details  of  their  daily  life,  which  had 
occurred  during  the  five  and  twenty  months  of  the 
lad's  absence. 

Lutsa  was  waiting  for  them  in  front  of  the  house. 
On  the  bench  there  was  a  big  earthen  basin  of  water 
and  towels.  The  children  took  Rizhan  to  unload  him 
and  bed  him  down,  but  INIarko  quickly  stripped  off  his 
jacket,  waistcoat  and  shirt,  bent  his  swarthy  frame 
over  the  basin,  shewing  all  his  ribs  and  spine.  He 
washed  his  hands  first,  and  then  his  face  with  clean 
water,  and  then  with  fresh  water  again  his  neck.  When 
his  wife  had  scrubbed  and  dried  his  back,  he  ran  in- 
doors and  put  on  clean  clothes.  Mish  did  the  same, 
only  Yoyi  rubbed  his  shoulders. 

On  the  supper  table  there  were  a  bowl  of  greens,  a 


POVARETA  197 

dish  of  fried  fish,  crumbs  of  barley  bread,  and  a  jug 
of  ''bevanda"  or  wine  mixed  with  water. 

Lutsa  took  from  the  foot  of  the  crucifix  two  ehaplets, 
giving  one  to  her  husband.  All  five  of  them  turned 
to  the  sacred  emblem,  while  the  father  said  aloud: 
*'In  the  Name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  Amen";  then  they  all  repeated  to- 
gether the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  Hail  ]\Iary,  and  the 
other  prayers  that  make  the  rosary.  This  lasted  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Supper  lasted  about  twice  as  long.  Nobody  spoke. 
Lutsa  nudged  Yuray,  who  tried  hard  to  swallow  a  few 
mouthfuls;  ]\Iarko  solemnly  chewed  each  mouthful, 
resting  his  tired  head  on  his  palm.  Only  when  they 
first  poured  out  the  wine,  he  looked  quickly  at  Yuray, 
then  at  his  wife,  then  took  a  drink,  and  finally  said : 

"Why,  in  God's  Name,  what  a  fine  fellow  this  boy 
of  ours  is !  What  a  grand  young  gentleman !  Just  wait 
a  bit  until  we  put  a  hoe  in  his  hand." 

All  drank  from  the  same  jug,  and  then  at  a  sign 
from  the  mother,  the  young  folk  went  upstairs  to  bed. 
Lutsa  brought  a  smaller  jug  and  a  glass,  and  when  she 
poured  it  out  it  was  obviously  pure  wine,  black  and 
thick.  Marko  drank  to  his  son,  ''Welcome  home!" 
and  emptied  his  glass ;  Lutsa  herself  then  drank  half 
a  gla.ss  to  his  welcome  home,  and  stood  the  jug  and 
glass  before  her  son.  At  the  same  time  his  father  put 
a  pipe  in  front  of  him,  filled  it,  and  said : 


198  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"You  spent  the  night  in  Zadar  on  ihe  spree,  I  can 
see  that;  and  to-day  you  had  a  good  drink  in  town; 
anybody  can  see  that,  eh  ? " 

"Why?"  asked  the  lad,  forcing  a  smile. 

"And  what  the  devil  did  you  see  in  Omerika?" 

'  *  How  do  I  know,  dad  ?  An  order  comes,  and  then 
it  is  forward !  In  front  of  us  was  a  cruiser,  the  Maria 
Theresa,  bound  for  Australia,  a  full  six  months'  trip." 

"And  he  has  seen  black  and  yellow  men,"  added  his 
mother,  drumming  on  the  table  with  her  fingers. 

"And  do  you  really  believe  all  the  sailors  tell  you?" 
asked  Marko,  turning  his  head  towards  the  ceiling 
with  a  yaw^n : ' '  they  are  full  of  lies.  But  tell  me,  how 
much  have  you  saved  ? ' ' 

"Fifteen  thalers,  father,"  answered  Yuray. 

"That's  not  much;  Roko  Tanfara  brought  back 
twenty.  Give  me  another,  and  then  to  bed,  and  to- 
morrow after  prayers,  go  and  pay  a  visit  to  your  uncle 
Yosa  and  aunt  Maria. ' ' 

' '  Naturally, ' '  put  in  the  mother. 

As  soon  as  his  father  had  drunk  his  glass  of  wine, 
he  stood  up  and  lazily  went  out.  Lutsa  lit  a  little  oil 
lamp  and  followed  her  husband.  Yuray  rested  his 
head  on  his  elbows,  and  remained  in  that  position. 
From  the  room  above  there  began  to  penetrate  the 
deep  and  rhythmic  snoring  of  his  parents,  which  com- 
pleted the  picture  of  daily  domestic  life.  Yuray,  liis 
head  entirely  occupied  with  one  dreadful  sentiment, 


POVARETA  199 

began  to  listen  attentively  to  the  snoring.  That  every- 
day occurrence  seemed  to  him  something  mysterious 
that  marked  the  passage  of  the  night,  of  everything 
that  passes  away  for  ever,  and  he  began  to  count  the 
snores.  He  counted  a  hundred,  two  hundred,  when  a 
loud  noise  and  a  hoarse  voice  startled  him  from  his 
reverie.  Their  cock  was  the  first  to  decide  to  break 
the  stillness  of  the  village,  and  then  the  rest  joined 
in  rivalry. 

As  soon  as  all  was  quiet  again,  a  terror  gripped  Tu- 
ray,  and  he  remembered  all  the  tales  of  his  childhood, 
how  the  white  graves  round  the  Lord  of  Angels  opened 
and  the  dead  came  out,  especially  the  newly  buried  who 
had  not  yet  grown  accustomed  to  the  solitude.  There 
was  the  poor  girl,  Maritsa,  who  never  knew  of  his  love, 
who  had  only  learnt  that  very  evening,  and  was  now 
hurrying  to  him  to  receive  the  ring.  A  flame  played 
upon  the  table,  something  crackled  among  the  sparks, 
and  Yuray,  in  terror,  sprang  to  his  feet.  But  that 
lasted  only  a  second,  for  his  real  character,  his  farm- 
ing and  seafaring  strength,  overcame  his  momentary 
weakness,  and  with  bowed  head  he  began  to  recite 
prayers  for  her  soul.  Then  he  sat  down  again,  put 
his  weary  head  on  his  folded  arms,  and  fell  asleep. 

Lutsa,  as  usual,  was  the  first  astir,  and  found  her 
son  thus;  she  lit  the  fire,  brewed  coffee,  put  it  before 
him,  and  gently  pushed  him.  The  lad  stood  up,  and 
looked  sleepily,  half  unconsciously  at  his  mother.    At 


200  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

last  he  took  out  his  handsome  new  metal  tobacco  box, 
put  some  tobacco  in  a  paper,  rolled  a  cigarette,  and 
began  to  puff.  His  mother  sat  opposite,  with  lowered 
eyes,  tapping  with  her  fingers  on  the  table. 

"Mother,  I  will  not  go  out  to-day." 

"Not  even  to  church?"  she  asked,  without  raising 
her  eyes. 

"Nowhere.  I  will  lie  down  in  the  little  room,  and 
you  can  tell  people  that  I  am  ill." 

"That  were  a  sin.  I  had  a  dream  last  night,  just 
before  waking,  at  the  dawn,  when  God  sends  dreams. ' ' 

Lutsa  really  wanted  Yuray  to  ask  what  her  dream 
was,  but  as  she  did  not  hear  his  voice,  she  continued 
in  a  low  monotonous  tone,  her  ej'cs  downcast : 

"I  dreamt  of  the  poor  maid,  of  the  Povareta;  she 
came  to  me  to  the  house  when  I  was  alone,  at  dusk. 
She  came,  poor  child,  pale  and  weeping,  with  her  poor 
arm  in  bandages.  She  led  me  to  the  window,  and  with 
her  whole  arm  pointed  out  to  the  sea,  and  to  a  great 
ship  upon  it,  and  you  were  on  the  ship.  And  she,  poor 
girl,  said  sobbing,  *  There  he  is !  He  is  coming !  But 
I  cannot  .  .  .  this  poor  arm  drags  me  down, 
down  to  the  very  depths.    Let  him  take  Pava ! ' ' 

Lutsa  ceased,  wiping  her  eyes  upon  her  sleeve. 

Long  they  were  silent;  then  the  mother  raised  her 
eyes,  and  looked  at  his  face,  on  which  there  was  grad- 
ually returning  the  joy  of  living. 

At  length  he  asked  in  a  broken  voice: 


POVARETA  201 

"Is  that  true,  mother?" 

"Yes,  my  son,  and  my  witness  is  the  blessed  Lord 
of  Angels." 

"Well,  mother,  let  God's  will  be  done 
Povareta  .      .    Poor  child     .     .     .    Poor  little 

girl    .     .     .  " 


HODJA  SALEEK 
By  Svetozar  Corovich 


203 


SvETOZAR  CoROViCH  was  bom  in  1875  at  Mostar  in 
Herzegovina,  a  town  and  province  that  was  oc- 
cupied by  the  Austro-Hnngarians  in  1878  and  annexed 
in  1908  and  now  belongs  to  the  Kingdom  of  the  Serbs, 
Croats  and  Slovenes.  He  had  little  education  for  he 
had  «nly  been  through  the  primary  school  and  a 
commercial  school.  He  lived  all  his  life  at  Mostar, 
where  he  had  a  chance  to  study  in  the  shop  of  his 
father,  the  types,  characters  and  manners  of  his 
native  country.  He  took  an  active  part  in  public 
affairs  and  with  some  friends,  foimded  the  first 
literary  review  at  Mostar  and  contributed  largely 
to  the  progress  in  his  country  of  literary  education. 
During  the  war  he  was  interned  in  a  Hungarian 
prison,  being  suspected  by  the  Austrian  authorities, 
and  there  caught  tuberculosis.  He  died  in  Novem- 
ber, 1918,  happy  in  having  seen  the  liberating  Ser- 
bian Army  of  his  native  country  reach  Mostar,  when 
a  detachment  honored  him  by  passing  in  review  be- 
fore his  house.  Although  he  was  very  careful  about 
his  work  he  nevertheless  had  great  facility  and  wrote 
many  volumes  of  stories,  a  number  of  plays,  and 
made  some  successful  attempts  at  novels. 


204 


HODJA  SALEEK 

SVETOZAR  COROVICH 

The  very  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  stealing 
through  the  thick  mulberry  leaves  to  dance  with  fairy 
tread  upon  the  little  babbling  brook,  always  found 
Hodja  Saleek  alert  and  bright,  as  he  took  his  stroll 
through  his  garden,  stopping  ever  and  anon  under 
some  tree  to  examine  with  critical  eye  the  coming  fruit. 
He  was  proud  of  his  garden ;  for  it  did  not  extend  to  a 
depth  of  over  fifteen  meters  and  yet  was  planted  with 
every  kind  and  size  of  fruit  tree,  whose  branches  inter- 
laced to  provide  him  with  an  ever-pleasant  leafy  can- 
opy, and  under  whose  verdant  shelter,  even  in  the 
hottest  weather,  he  could  enjoy  refreshing  shade. 
Underneath  the  fruit  trees  waved  luxuriant  grass,  and 
his  eye  reposed  contentedly  on  all  his  succulent  green- 
stuffs — spinach,  cabbages,  vegetable-marrows  and  the 
red-blue  flesh  of  many  a  ripening  tomato.  The  Hodja 's 
garden,  indeed,  was  often  as  gay  and  variegated  as  any 
grocer 's  shop.  At  the  end  of  it,  the  little  brook  slipped 
along  its  subtle  course,  scarcely  visible  for  the  long 
grass,  the  flowers  and  the  shrubs  overhanging  it  upon 
either  side.  But  Hodja  understood  well  how  to  make 
use  of  the  little  stream ;  had  he  not  himself  dug  the  long 
irrigating-channel  that  brought  fertilising  draughts  to 
his  thirsty  garden  ?    The  brook  brought  the  water,  and 

205 


206  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

the  Hodja  did  the  watering ;  he  did  not  believe  in  pay- 
ing wages  for  that!  With  his  long  white  beard,  his 
white  breeches  and  thin  shirt,  and  his  little  white  cap 
on  his  shaven  head,  there  was  Hodja — barefooted,  pad- 
dling in  the  little  watercourse,  scattering  the  water 
over  the  garden  with  his  biggish  wooden  spade.  At 
other  times  you  might  see  him  with  his  little  bent  hoe, 
gently  working  the  soil  around  the  root  of  every  fruit 
tree,  and  giving  special  care  to  the  young  maize.  After 
which,  he  would  lie  down  to  rest  upon  the  grass,  not 
minding  if  he  was  occasionally  overtaken  by  a  little 
nap,  nor  even  if,  after  his  snooze,  some  little  bits  of 
grass  or  thistle  adhers  to  his  beard  and  his  clothes. 

It  was  after  such  siestas  in  the  garden  that  Hodja 
Saleek  might  be  seen  with  his  hoe  and  his  shovel, 
throwing  them  over  his  shoulder  before  making  his 
way  through  the  rickety,  old  doorway  into  the  house. 
His  house  was  smallish,  time-worn,  dilapidated;  the 
doorway,  with  its  crumbling  posts  and  lintel,  threat- 
ened to  come  down  upon  the  visitor's  head.  Windows 
there  were  none ;  but  there  were  little  holes  in  the  wall 
that  would  very  well  have  accommodated  the  nose  of  a 
rifle;  these  the  Hodja  used  to  speak  of  facetiously  as 
"my  little  gun-holes."  The  unpaved  courtyard  was 
quite  large,  and  near  the  doorway — rotten,  of  course ! 
— flourished  two  blue-grey  brook-willows,  whose  pow- 
erful fragrance  scented  the  whole  place.  Under  the 
crooked  walls  flowering  rose  bushes  yellowed   and 


HODJA  SALEEK  207 

reddened  with,  the  progress  of  the  seasons,  planted  be- 
tween a  couple  of  luxuriant  oleanders  which  prodigally 
adorned  with  their  topmost  fronds  the  crumbling 
caves,  where  birds  had  nested  for  goodness  knows  how 
many  a  generation.  The  carnations,  sweet  basil  and 
the  various  medicinal  herbs  in  the  centre  of  the  court- 
yard were  surrounded  by  a  thick,  tough  grass,  and 
through  the  yard  the  little  stream  threaded  its  tortu- 
ous way. 

Hodja  Saleek  always  drank  his  coffee  in  the  court- 
yard. He  loved  to  splash  his  dirty,  bare  feet  about  in 
the  streamlet,  and  then  to  lie  full-length  upon  the 
grass  under  the  oleanders.  Here  he  would  take  his 
great,  long  pipe,  and  listening  to  the  quiet  murmur  of 
the  brook  lazily  sip  his  coffee  in  the  scent-laden  air. 

In  the  courtyard,  too,  he  took  his  lunch,  and  that, 
usually,  two  hours  before  noon,  when,  as  he  used  to  say, 
the  clock  struck  in  his  inside.  His  loaf  of  bread  and 
pennj-worth  of  cheese  he  ate  with  so  sweet  a  relish  that 
he  never  thought  of  meat. 

Sometimes  after  lunch  he  would  go  into  his  room  to 
dress  himself  up.  Nobody  ever  cleaned  that  little 
room.  It  was  full  of  dust  and  cobwebs.  Just  as  he 
became  adorned  in  the  garden,  lying  on  the  grass,  with 
adhesive  bits  of  thistle  and  grass,  so  here  in  his  little 
room  he  became  decorated  with  spiders'  webs — sticky 
spiders'  webs  upon  his  face,  his  beard  and  liis  clothes. 
The  apartment  made  no  claim  to  furniture  of  any 


208  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

kind,  save  a  dirty  old  mattress,  hard  and  thin,  and  an 
ancient  time-piece  hanging  upon  the  wall.  This  clock 
Hodja  Saleek  looked  upon  as  a  necessary  evil.  He 
always  attended  to  it  himself.  He  wound  it  up,  and 
set  it  right,  taking  off  the  large  minute-hand ;  for  two 
hands  confused  him — besides,  what  did  he  care  for 
minutes  ?  He  only  reckoned  by  hours !  .  .  .  From 
a  certain  spot  above  the  mattress,  the  Hodja  drew  out 
his  clothes ;  big,  wide  baggy  breeches  of  blue,  a  sleeved 
waistcoat,  and  a  long,  blue  robe  without  sleeves — moth- 
eaten  round  the  bottom, — looking  as  if  it  had  been 
pierced  with  bullets.  He  always  belted  himself  with 
an  enormously  broad  girdle,  and  his  ample  blue  robe 
floated  around  him  as  a  proper  priestly  mantle  should. 
His  broad  red  fez  (with  blue  tassel)  he  stiffened  in- 
side with  layers  of  paper,  before  winding  around  it 
his  big,  white  turban.  Such  was  his  headgear — perched 
a  little  on  one  side,  almost  as  if  he  had  been  tipsy. 
He  never  forgot  his  great  spectacles.  For  these 
he  had  no  special  case,  so  he  popped  them  in  his  tur- 
ban, so  that  from  its  folds  you  might  always  see  one 
glass  peeping  out.  Never  wearing  socks,  he  used  to 
slip  on  a  pair  of  wooden  clogs,  in  which  he  shuffled 
along,  always  making  a  tremendous  dust,  to  the  great 
annoyance  of  the  Austrians,  who  are  rather  touchy  in 
regard  to  dust. 

"When  he  had  quite  finished  dressing,  Hodja  Saleek 
never  omitted  to  put  over  his  shoulder  a  fairly  large 


HODJA  SALEEK  209 

talism'an  bag,  made  of  fine  red  stuff,  tastily  worked, 
from  which  always  peeped  out  three  old  smutty  Turk- 
ish books  and  some  sheets  of  clean  paper;  and  then, 
as  if  it  had  been  a  little  pistol,  stuck  in  his  girdle  was 
a  yellowish  old  bronze  inkhorn  overfull  of  quill  pens 
and  ink  of  his  own  making. 

Thus  equipped,  Hodja  would  set  out  for  the  town, 
giving  the  Turkish  greeting  to  all  the  townsfolk,  re- 
gardless of  their  creed,  and  patting  the  head  of  every 
child  that  came  under  his  hand.  Everybody  returned 
the  Hodja 's  salutations.  The  women,  both  young  and 
old,  stood  up  and  prepared  to  greet  him  before  he 
reached  them,  and  rarely  did  anyone  neglect  to  Eisk 
after  his  health.  It  was,  indeed,  evident  on  all  hands 
that  Hodja  Saleek  was  a  favourite  with  the  women- 
folk. 

'  *  Effendia !  Effendia ! ' '  some  old  woman  would  cry- 
to  him,  right  in  the  middle  of  the  town,  and  catching 
hold  of  his  robe.  "Oh,  my  grandchild  has  fallen  sick 
of  something  or  other,  and  I  fear  he  must  have  been 
bewitched.  I  beg  thee,  give  me  a  talisman,"  she 
would  say,  bowing  and  scraping  around  the  Hodja, 
and  still  keeping  hold  of  his  mantle. 

Hodja  Saleek  immediately  puts  his  hand  upon  his 
bag,  draws  out  a  book,  puts  his  spectacles  on  the  end 
of  his  nose,  and  consults  his  book. 

"Has  he  been  ill  long?"  he  asks  as  seriously  and 
calmly  as  any  doctor. 


210  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

*'Not  three  days." 

''And  doesn't  he  know  where  the  pain  is?" 

' '  Pains  all  over  his  inside ! ' ' 

Hodja  sighs,  and  not  lifting  his  eyes  from  his  book 
begins  to  shake  his  head :  ' '  Seest  than,  he  must  have 
struck  upon  the  devils'  night-dance.  How  came  it 
that  ye  let  him  go?  He  might  have  paid  for  it  with 
his  life." 

Putting  his  hand  out  to  the  old  woman  that  she  may 
hold  his  book  for  him,  he  at  once  opens  his  inkhorn, 
takes  out  his  pen  and  paper,  goes  to  the  nearest  wall, 
and,  leaning  his  leg  against  it,  writes  out,  in  that 
fashion,  two  or  three  Turkish  "prescriptions." 

"One  'prescription,'  "  he  says,  "to  be  put  under 
the  child's  head  when  he  sleeps;  one  to  be  sewn  in 
his  shirt,  and  one  to  be  put  into  water!  Then  let  him 
drink  of  the  water!" 

The  old  woman  gives  him  a  twopenny-piece,  and 
the  Hodja  moves  on  down  the  town — probably  with 
many  such  encounters  and  stoppages.  There  were, 
indeed,  mornings  when  he  was  pulled  up  every  four 
or  five  steps;  mornings  when  his  very  fingers  grew 
stiff  and  tired  from  overmuch  writing.  The  con- 
sultations were  various:  one  had  a  sick  cow,  another 
a  sick  horse  or  some  other  living  creature  in  a  bad 
way,  or  it  might  be  that  some  young  maid  was  in 
love,  or  that  some  matron  had  bother  with  her  hus- 
band, because  he  had  gone  off  into  bad  paths  of  late. 


HODJA  SALEEK  211 

For  each  and  all  these,  Hodja  was  called  upon  to 
write  his  "prescription,"  and  was  acclaimed  by  the 
townsfolk  as  an  unfailing  worker  of  wonders. 

The  shopkeepers  too,  would  call  in  Hodja,  give  him 
little  cups  of  black  coffee,  offer  him  tobacco  and  even 
bread,  only  that  he  might  stay  and  linger  in  their 
shops.  They  liked  him  to  make  their  premises  a 
kind  of  office.  They  knew  that  he  was  sought  after 
by  the  peasants,  that  all  sorts  of  people  gathered 
round  him,  so  they  hoped  to  do  a  stroke  of  business 
on  their  own  account,  by  the  way. 

But  the  Hodja  transacted  most  of  his  business  at 
home,  towards  evening,  when  he  returned  from  the 
town.  There  at  his  house  he  was  awaited  by  all  those 
who  did  not  want  the  general  public  to  know  anything 
about  their  private  'affairs,  and  who  did  not  dare  to 
catch  the  Hodja  by  the  sleeve  upon  the  street  in  broad 
daylight.  In  a  word,  these  evening-time  customers 
were  the  prettiest  and  the  most  animated;  for  they 
were  almost  all  from  the  younger  women  and  the 
girls. 

For  them  the  Hodja  wrote  his  ** prescriptions"  in 
the  courtyard.  He  used  to  order  them  all  to  take  a 
seat  on  the  grass,  near  the  little  stream,  and  then  he 
would  sit  down  beside  them,  taking  off  his  clogs  and 
putting  his  feet  in  the  water.  "With  inkpot  at  side, 
paper  on  knee,  looking  round  on  them  all,  he  gets 
ready  to  do  his  writing. 


212  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

*'What  aileth  thee,  then?"  he  asks  the  first  girl 
sitting  near  him,  alternately  nibbling  his  pen  and 
cleaning  it  upon  his  trousers. 

The  girl  is  shy.  She  blushes.  She  picks  at  the 
grass  around  her,  and  throws  little  handfuls  of  it 
into  the  brook. 

"Sure  thou  art  under  some  spell!"  says  Hodja. 
Slightly  shrugging  her  shoulders,  the  girls  plucks  at 
the  grass  still  more,  and  glances  sideways  for  relief, 
up  there  above  the  door,  where  the  Hodja 's  pet  spar- 
row— afraid  of  nobody — sports  with  his  mate. 

* '  Hmm !  Thou  has  lost  thy  tongue ! ' '  exclaims  the 
Hodga  with  a  rogueish  laugh,  glancing  up  too,  towards 
the  sparrow. 

"But  I  know  a  spell  is  over  thee," — he  continues; 
"some  young  fellow  has  cast  his  eye  upon  thee,  and 
now  thine  heart  is  as  big  as  a  loaf,  and  ready  to  break 
thy  sides!" 

"Agh!"  sighs  the  girl  almost  inaudibly,  and  turns 
and  stares  at  the  mole  on  Hodja 's  left  cheek,  and 
.     .     .     only  listens.     .     .     . 

"And  that  youngster"  probes  the  Hodja,"  thou 
hast  begun  to  run  after  him,  and  now  thy  heart  within 
thee  is  more  like  unto  a  loaf    ,     .     ." 

"With  this,  Hodja  spreads  out  his  sheet  of  paper, 
and  waves  his  pen  in  the  air, 

"Now,  what  wilt  thou?"  he  asks.  "Wouldst  thou 
that  this   desire   should   wither   in   thine   heart,   or 


HODJA  SALEEK  213 

wouldst  thou  that  this  youth  be  closer  drawn  to  thee?" 
The  poor  girl  hesitates,  covers  her  face  with  her 
hands,  and  not  wishing  that  anyone  else  should  hear 
her,  putting  her  pretty  head  right  against  the  Hodja's 
ear,  she  whispers :  * '  Yes,  I  would  that  he  follow  me ! " 
Whereon,  Hodja  Saleek  smiles,  winks  a  little  at  the 
other  women,  and  writes  his  ''prescription!" 

In  half  an  hour  Hodja  manages  to  write  quite  a 
number  of  prescriptions,  and  every  customer  goes 
away  perfectly  satisfied,  leaving  upon  the  grass  by 
Hodja's  inkstand  her  twopenny-piece.  Contentedly 
Hodja  counts  over  the  coins  when  he  is  alone ;  weighs 
them  in  his  palm,  counts  them  a  second  time,  carries 
them  to  his  tiny  room,  and  deposits  them  safely  in 
his  mouldy  old  money-belt. 

In  this  fashion  came  and  went  the  days,  and  we 
could  hardly  have  told  you  anything  more  about 
Hodja,  nor  should  we  have  begun  this  story  at  all, 
if  something  had  not  happened  which  nobody  could 
have  foreseen;  that  is  to  say,  if  a  most  unusual  "cus- 
tomer" had  not  appeared  one  evening — a  customer 
the  like  of  which  he  had  never  before  seen,  and  the  like 
of  which,  in  all  probability,  he  will  never  see  again. 

It  was  about  the  lovely  close  of  a  warm  summer 
day,  Thursday  evening,  after  sunset  prayer.  Ilodja 
had  made  his  ablutions,  had  prayed  in  the  early  moon- 
light, and  was  preparing  to  go  to  bed  in  the  court- 


214  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

yard,  where  he  hoped  to  gain  more  respite  from  the 
fleas  than  in  his  own  room,  when  somebody  touched 
his  door-knocker,  gently,  timidly.  Hodja  was  just 
thinking  of  a  plan  of  campaign  against  the  chirping 
crickets — he  could  not  stand  any  kind  of  singing,  and 
least  of  all  from  crickets — and  at  first  he  did  not 
move.     The  knock  was  repeated. 

"Whoever  upon  earth  can  it  be?"  muttered  he, 
going  unwillingly  and  somewhat  discomfited  towards 
the  door. 

"Who  art  thou?"  he  questioned  from  behind  the 
door,  peeping  through  a  hole,  if  perchance  he  might 
descry. 

"I,"  came  back  the  answer  in  a  whisper. 

"Is  it  man,  or  is  it  woman?" 

"Woman." 

Hodja  stood  for  a  moment  quite  still,  bethought 
himself,  lifted  the  latch,  and  opened  the  door.  En- 
veloped in  a  big  shawl — though  it  did  not  conceal  her 
graceful  curve  of  limb — glancing  timidly  around  on 
every  side,  a  tall  female  figure  entered  his  courtyard, 
where  the  richness  of  her  attire  could  be  better  seen — 
her  long,  golden,  handworked  girdle,  and  the  ample, 
silk  divided-skirt, — so  ample  that  it  touched  the 
ground.  The  figure  moved  across  the  yard,  and  the 
astonished  Hodja  after  her. 

"Are  we  alone?"  the  lady  asked  of  him. 

"Allah   be    praised,    alone    we    are!" — answered 


HODJA  SALEEK  215 

Hodja,  turning  around  to  assure  himself  that  they 
actually  were  alone. 

"Effendia,  I  am  come  for  a  talisman." 

Saying  which,  she  drew  nearer,  sat  upon  the  grass 
by  the  brook,  and  removed  her  shawl.  Involuntarily, 
Hodja  started  back  when  he  saw  her.  The  long, 
feminine  face  shone  in  the  moonlight  whiter  than 
snow.  Then  a  slight  flush  suffused  the  countenance. 
Above  the  straight  and  well-formed  nose  sparkled  two 
large  blue  eyes — it  seemed  to  Hodja  like  two  ripen- 
ing plums  from  his  own  beloved  garden — and  the 
eyes  were  overarched  by  well-defined,  black  brows. 
The  compressed  lips  had  a  certain  fulness  and  rich- 
ness, while  the  right  cheek  seemed  to  be  enhanced  by 
a  little  black  mole — like  black  coral!  Her  apparel 
was  that  of  a  Pasha's  lady.  Her  luxuriant  and  wavy 
hair  was  crowTied  with  a  fez  adorned  with  pearls, 
while  from  the  full,  white  throat  there  hung  neck- 
laces of  golden  ducats  and  of  pearls,  falling  nearly 
to  the  breast.  The  sleeves  of  her  gold-embroidered 
blouse  were  not  so  thick  as  to  hide  the  shapely  arms ; 
from  the  coloured  girdle  hung  a  long  tassel,  so  long 
that  it  often  touched  her  glittering  slippers. 

"In  Allah's  name,  say!  what  art  thou? — Appari- 
tion, fairy — what?"  cried  the  Hodja  with  eyes  riveted 
upon  his  visitor,  and  outspread  hands  extended  with 
a  strange  rigidity. 


216  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

SHe  smoothed  her  hair;  toyed  restlessly  with  the 
girdle  tassel. 

"Neither  monster,  sprite  nor  fairy," — came  the 
voice, — "but  a  married  woman,  who  has  no  time  for 
waiting,  or  for  argument.  The  talisman  give  to  mo 
and  let  me  go ! " 

"And  wherefore  need'st  thou  ta,lisman?"  ques- 
tioned Hodja,  stiff,  immobile,  with  arms  still  out- 
spread. 

"I  will  tell  thee  all;  only  give  me  the  paper." 

The  Hodja  made  an  impatient  gesture  with  an  evi- 
dent display  of  emotion,  and  moved  in  the  direction 
of  the  courtyard  door.  Then  he  turned  again,  and 
went  to  his  little  room,  whence  he  brought  out  not  ink- 
horn  and  paper  but  his  old  money-belt!  Again  he 
went  back,  and  brought  out  this  time  his  inkhorn  and 
his  talisman  bag.  But  there  was  something  weird 
and  strange  in  the  air;  the  inkhorn  upset  itself,  and 
nearly  all  the  ink  was  spilt  upon  his  white  breeches. 
He  gallantly  disregarded  the  misfortune. 

"What  ails  thee?"  he  asked  of  his  fair  visitor  in 
a  low  voice,  sitting  down  near  her,  with  his  shoulder, 
close  against  hers. 

In  silence  she  glanced  over  the  willows,  the  olean- 
ders and  the  roof  of  Hodja's  dwelling,  till  her  gaze 
seemed  to  rest  upon  the  more  distant  statues  of  the 
courtyard  of  Atlagitch,  which  almost  concealed  the 
slender,  pencil-like  minaret  of  the  Begovitch  mosque, 


HODJA  SALEEK  217 

though  its  glittering  Crescent  was  visible  above  the 
trees. 

"I  come  to  thee  for  a  cure  for  my  master," — she 
now  began  with  trembling  voice,  keeping  her  eyes 
straight  in  front  of  her.  '  *  Once  I  used  to  be  as  dear 
to  him  as  the  very  apple  of  his  eye,  and  he  cared  for 
me  as  no  one  in  the  v/orld  was  ever  cared  for,  but 
now  I  am  sometimes  not  even  allowed  to  breathe. 
I  seem  no  longer  to  give  him  pleasure.  He  has  be- 
come tired  of  me.  And  yet  his  eyes  follow  me  about 
with  a  suspicious  look  at  every  step  I  take!  Nor 
does  he  now  allow  me  even  to  dress  myself  nicely — • 
nor  anything  else.  I  think  I  shall  run  away  from 
him.     I  am  come  here  for  counsel." 

Ilodja  clutches  his  beard ;  he  wipes  the  perspiration 
from  his  face: 

"And  who  is  thy  lord?"  he  asks. 

"Matan  Pilinoratz." 

"And  thine  own  name?" 

"Lucia!" 

"And  are  you  not  a  Latin?" 

"I  am." 

Ilodja  is  breathing  hard.  He  grasps  his  book  and 
opens  it. 

"  It  is  written  "  .  .  . — thus  he  began  to  read  ac- 
cording to  ancient  habit,  but  he  is  not  his  old  self. 
"It  is  written,"  he  begins  again. 

And  then,  as  if  he  had  thought  out  something  all  of 


218  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

a  sudden,  he  throws  down  his  venerable  book  upon 
the  grass,  and  seizes  the  lady  Lucia  by  the  hand. 

"And  what  wilt  thou  with  a  talisman?"  he  asks 
in  a  whisper. — "Only  look  at  him  with  those  eyes  of 
thine,  and  he  will  be  quiet  as  a  lamb.  Here  is  the 
talisman ! ' ' 

Whereon  Hodja  pressed  her  hand  with  such  emotion 
and  passion  that  she  had  almost  screamed,  and  his  gaze 
was  so  sharp  that  she  felt  he  could  read  the  depths 
of  her  very  soul. 

* '  Eh,  if  only  I  were  in  his  shoes ! "  he  muttered. 

Quicker  than  thought,  Lueia  drew  herself  up  to 
her  full  stature,  and  snatched  her  hand  from  his. 

"Play  me  no  jokes,  Effendia,  but  write!"  she  said 
sharply  and  with  marked  abruptness.  "If  you  think 
I  shall  not  pay,  why  here ' s  your  money  in  advance ! ' ' 

And  from  her  necklace  she  plucked  a  golden  ducat, 
and  wdthoul  a  look  at  him  threw  it  on  the  grass  at 
his  feet. 

"For  whom  is  this  money?"  asks  Hodja  thickly, 
throwing  the  coin  from  him.  "I  will  give  you  what 
talisman  you  will — but  for  money — ^Never!" 

A  certain  dizziness  seized  him,  a  strange  quivering 
bringing  back  days  of  long  ago,  when  he  was  still  a 
youth,  when  he  used  to  play  nightly  pranks  upon  the 
town,  and  serenade  the  pretty  girls,  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  them  as  they  spied  him  from  their  windows  through 
the  shrubs  and  flowers.     Then  with  trembling  hand 


HODJA  SALEEK  219 

he  took  his  pen,  and  with  eyes  still  fixed  upon  Lucia 
he  began  to  scribble  some  Turkish  words.  Were  they 
really  words? — for  the  life  of  him  he  couldn't  have 
told  you  their  meaning! 

''Here  it  is!" —  he  murmured.  ''And  let  him 
drink  the  water  from  it."  And  as  he  held  the  paper 
out  to  her,  he  again  seized  her  hand. 

* '  Eh,  if  only  I  were  in  his  place ! ' ' 

Again  Lucia  drew  her  hand  sharply  away  from  his. 
Then  catching  hold  of  the  paper,  she  rose  and  drawing 
her  shawl  around  her,  pushed  away  with  her  slipper 
the  gold  ducat,  so  that  it  nearly  rolled  into  the  brook. 

"By  my  soul,  Effendia,  you're  a  lusty  fellow!" 
she  exclaimed.  "I've  always  heard  it  said  you  were 
as  quiet  and  meek  as  any  saint,  but  you  are  a  scoun- 
drel— a  devil." 

"A  scoundrel!  A  de\Til!"  repeated  Ilodja.  "A' 
scoundrel,  a  devil!" 

Again  seizing  her  arm,  he  drew  her  towards  himself. 

"Eemain  a  little  longer!"  he  whispered. 

"It  is  enough!" — she  laughed,  pushing  hira  away. 
"The  paper  is  ready!     What  more  do  I  want!" 

With  a  rapid  movement  she  had  drawn  back,  opened 
the  door,  and  vanished. 

"She  is  fair  enough  for  Paradise!"  the  Ilodja 
murmured,  as  he  peered  after  her  in  the  darkness, 
lie  paid  no  more  heed  to  the  chirping  of  the  crickets, 
though    they   were    m-aking   more    noise   than    ever. 


220  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

Neither  did  he  bolt  the  door.  After  standing  still 
a  long  while,  he  sat  down  upon  the  spot  where  she  had 
sat.  He  noticed  the  dncat,  took  it  in  his  palm,  and 
turned  it  over  many  times,  regarding  it  contempla- 
tively as  it  glistened  in  the  moonlight. 

"Ah,  me!  Ah,  me!"  he  sighed  again,  putting  his 
feet  in  the  stream.  "Never  in  all  my  life  did  I  fall 
on  such  misfortune.  But  what  a  picture  of  a  woman ! ' ' 

A  gentle  wind  was  blowing,  and  the  aroma  of  the 
neighbouring  foliage  made  him  drowsy.  As  he  in- 
haled the  fragrance  of  the  zephyr,  he  brought  himself 
to  think  that  it  was  the  aroma  from  her  hair! 

He  groaned  like  one  in  pain. 

**A  lovely  figure!  I  would  teach  that  housemaster 
of  hers  how  to  treat  a  wife. — To  think  that  sh  e  should 
be  downtrodden!  I'd  give  him  no  talisman!  A 
thrashing  rather!" 

"Eh,  if  only  I  were  younger"  He  closed  his  eyes, 
and  sought  for  sleep. 

"What  a  pity  she's  a  Latin !"  he  continued,  unable 
to  forget  the  recent  meeting,  ' '  And  to  think  that  he, 
a  Latin,  should  kiss  such  lips  and  eyes !  A  talisman 
indeed !  Rather,  such  a  trouncing  that  no  whole  bone 
is  left  in  all  his  body!  Matan  Pilinoratz!  He  to 
have  such  a  woman  in  his  house !  And  they  say  that 
Allah  loves  all  equally!" 

With  such  surface  indications  of  the  storm  within, 


HODJA  SALEEK  221 

Hodja  turned  and  tossed  till  dawn  should  come.  The 
more  he  strove  to  divert  his  thoughts,  the  more  was 
Lucia  before  his  eyes.  She  filled  his  thoughts.  When 
he  rose,  his  eyes  looked  as  if  he  had  been  peeling 
onions,  the  lids  were  swollen,  and  his  face  pallid  and 
haggard. 

' '  Wretch  that  I  am ! ' ' — ^he  cried,  getting  up.  *  *  Three 
such  nights,  and  I  am  done  for ! ' ' 

Ten  whole  days,  like  a  half-demented  person,  the 
Hodja  paced  his  courtyard  and  his  garden.  He  for- 
got about  the  watering  and  the  digging ;  he  forgot  that 
the  sun  was  scorching  up  his  fruit.  It  seemed  no 
affair  of  his  that  much  of  it  was  falling  parched  and 
browned  to  the  ground.  He  drank  a  great  deal  of 
coffee.  He  smoked  inordinately;  his  long  chibouk 
was  hardly  ever  out  of  his  mouth.  He  did  not  go 
into  the  town — really,  he  had  not  the  courage  for  that, 
for  he  knew  all  too  well  how  sick  and  miserable  he 
looked,  and  he  knew  that  everybody  would  be  asking 
him  the  reason.  He  wrote  no  talismans;  he  gave  it 
out  that  he  was  ill,  and  simply  could  not  hold  a  pen. 
He  even  turned  away  some  friends  who  had  come  a 
long  distance  specially  to  see  what  ailed  him. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  growled  from  within. 

**We  have  come  to  see  you!" 

"I'm  not  a  bear,  that  I  should  be  put  on  view  for 


you 


J" 


222  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"But  we  heard  you  were  ill!" 

"Well,  now  you've  heard  I'm  not,  and  get  away  with 
you  home!" 

So  his  friends  departed,  rather  worried  about  him, 
and  asking  themselves  on  the  way  home  whether  much 
learning  had  not  made  the  Hodja  mad. 

But  the  eleventh  day  found  him  venturing  out  into 
the  town,  properly  dressed,  and  as  spruce  as  he  ever 
was — for  Bairam.  He  had  washed  his  breeches  in 
the  brook,  so  that  they  looked  like  new ;  mended  care- 
fully his  coat ;  put  on  a  new  girdle,  and  wound  a  new 
turban  round  his  fez.  His  shuffling,  wooden-soled 
slippers,  indeed,  made  dust  enough  as  he  walked,  but 
he  had  fastened  them  today  with  string,  and  his  feet 
were  also  cleaner  than  usual. 

' '  Where  is  the  house  of  Matan  Pilinoratz  ? "  he  asked 
some  children  who  were  rushing  pell-mell  out  of 
school.  It  was  hard  to  get  an  answer  out  of  the 
youngsters :  "That  way !  long  by  the  hill — first  house 
on  the  right !  The  house  with  the  new  fence,  and  th'e 
old  knocker. ' '  Thus  did  they  breathlessly  direct  him 
to  the  house  of  Matan  Pilinoratz. 

The  Hodja  patted  them  on  the  head,  gave  them  a 
penny  to  buy  some  nuts,  and  proceeded  as  they  had 
told  him,  slowly  and  with  bowed  head ;  stopping  after 
every  step,  either  to  set  his  turban  right,  or  to  arrange 
his  girdle,  or  to  fasten  his  shoe-latchet.  At  length  he 
reached  the  very  house. 


HODJA  SALEEK  223 

"Now,  only  to  speak  nicely,  and  not  to  get  con- 
fused!" he  breathed.  Slowly,  rather  furtively,  with 
many  a  turn  to  see  if  he  were  noticed,  he  stole  up  to 
the  door,  and  raised  the  knocker, 

"Who's  that?"  called  a  ringing  female  voice  from 
the  yard. 

Hodja  started;  his  beard  almost  seemed  to  rustle. 

"I," — he  answered  in  a  whisper.  "We  know  each 
other!" 

The  pitter-patter  of  slippers  was  heard  across  a 
paved  yard,  the  rustle  of  garments,  the  grating  of  a 
bolt,  and  the  door  was  open. 

"Ah,  Effendia!"  exclaimed  Lucia  with  a  start  of 
astonishment — "it  is  you!" 

"Me  thou  seest!"  replied  Hodja  with  a  wave  of 
the  hand.  "Yes,  I  am  come," — repeats  Hodja, — 
* '  and  it  may  be  that  the  devil  has  brought  me ! " 

"By  why?"  she  asked,  laughing  at  him. 

The  Hodja 's  beard  seemed  literally  to  wave,  his 
eyes  glistened,  and  his  voice  trembled,  as  he  replied: 

"In  truth  I  have  come  to  ask  of  you  a  talisman.  I 
have  been  giving  them  all  my  life  to  all  the  world, 
and  now  upon  my  soul,  it  is  I  who  should  ask  one! 
And  it  is  from  you  I  ask  it ! 

Lucia  clapped  her  hands  upon  her  knees ;  then  she 
looked  him  straight  in  the  face.  So  close  was  she, 
that  he  felt  the  whisp  of  her  hair  upon  his  forehead. 

"I?"  bhe  asked. 


224  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

**Yes,  thee,  I  swear  it!  For  since  thou  earnest  on 
that  night  the  devil  has  driven  nie  out  of  my  wits,  and 
I  think  of  nothing  else  but  thee.  A  scandal  this,  at 
my  age.     Thou  hast  bewitched  me,  I  do  swear  it!" 

Lucia  very  naughtily  put  her  nose  right  up  against 
the  Hodja's,  and  pulled  his  beard. 

''But  who  could  bewitch  thee?"  she  asked. 

The  Hodja  began  to  forget  himself. 

"Look  here!  don't  make  a  joke  of  it,"  said  he 
grimly,  "but  give  me  either  some  talisman  or  else  a 
medicine  of  some  sort,  for  I  can't  go  on  like  this! 
I  swear  I  'm  going  mad ! ' ' 

Then,  suddenly,  the  Hodja  caught  the  hand  which 
had  pulled  his  beard,  and  carried  it  to  his  lips,  and, 
before  Lucia  could  "withdraw  it,  he  had  bitten  deeply 
into  it  the  imprint  of  his  teeth. 


ETERNITY 
By  Janko  Veselinovich 


225 


Janko  Veselinovich  was  born  in  Sabach,  Serbia, 
and  graduated  from  the  Normal  School  for  primary 
teachers.  While  a  schoolmaster  in  a  village  school 
he  devoted  himself  to  reading  Serbian  books  to  com- 
plete his  inadequate  education.  The  example  of  Laz- 
arovich  inspired  him  most  of  all  and  he  began  to 
write  stories  which  were  very  sympathetically  re- 
ceived. Very  young,  full  of  talent,  and  popular  from 
the  very  beginning,  he  wasted  his  youth  and  his 
health  without  a  thought  of  the  morrow.  Then  pov- 
erty came  upon  him — he  had  only  a  small  government 
post  at  Belgrade,  or  a  job  as  editor  of  some  unim- 
portant review — and  illness.  The  struggle  to  live, 
and  the  miseries  of  political  life  under  the  regime  of 
the  two  last  Obrenovichi  (the  kings  Milan  and  Alex- 
ander) finally  brought  about  his  death  which  occurred 
in  1904.  Gifted  with  a  fertile  imagination  and  nat- 
urally prolific  he  wrote  half  a  hundred  stories,  six 
novels,  two  plays  and  various  literary  essays. 


226 


ETERNITY 
By  Janko  Veselinovich 


There  were  once  two  neighbours.  They  lived  to- 
gether happily  like  brothers.  Neither,  without  the 
other,  liked  to  drink  a  glass  of  brandy ;  neither  would 
have  hurt  the  other  for  all  the  treasures  of  this  world. 
Both  had  only  sons,  of  the  same  year,  and  the  children 
loved  each  other  as  their  fathers  did. 

If  there  was  work  to  do,  they  did  it  together;  if 
a  spinning  feast,  they  were  both  at  the  spinning  feast ; 
if  a  wedding  they  were  both  at  the  wedding. 

They  were  always  together  and  always  with  their 
arms  round  each  other's  necks.  And  as  they  went 
they  would  sing,  like  two  fair  maidens.  Dear  chil- 
dren !  The  name  of  one  was  Branko  and  of  the  other 
Iliya. 

Parents  held  these  two  up  as  examples  to  their 
children.  '  *  Why  do  you  quarrel,  why  are  you  rude  to 
each  other !  Look  at  Branko  and  Iliya  and  be  ashamed 
of  yourselves.  Even  brothers  do  not  love  each  other 
as  they  do. ' ' 

On  a  Sunday  morning  Branko  called  out  to  Iliya. 

"Yes"  answered  Iliya. 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you." 
227 


228  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Well,  what  is  it!" 

"I  asked  Father  if  you  and  I  could  be  made 
brothers. ' ' 

' '  And  what  did  he  say ! ' '  asked  Iliya  with  interest. 

"He  said,  'Good  luck  to  you,  my  lad,  I  have  been 
expecting  that  for  sometime. '  ' ' 

Iliya  put  his  hands  round  Branko's  neck  and  cried 
joyfully  "Thank  God,  and  when  shall  we  go  to 
church ! ' ' 

"To-day,  get  ready." 

They  went  joyfully  to  prepare  for  the  ceremony. 
They  put  on  the  finest  things  they  had,  kissed  their 
parents'  hands,  and  betook  themselves  to  the  holy 
church. 

The  dew  was  shining  on  the  grass  and  leaves,  as  if 
God  had  scattered  precious  stones  over  this  sinful 
earth. 

The  people  turned  to  look  after  them  and  marvelled 
"God,  give  them  happiness !     God,  give  them  health  ! ' ' 

The  old  priest  had  just  finished  matins,  and  sat 
down  under  a  sweet  smelling  lime  tree,  which  spread 
its  branches  in  front  of  the  church,  the  two  boys  stand- 
ing before  him. 

"Good  morning." 

"God  keep  you,  children." 

They  held  out  their  hands  to  him  saying,  ' '  Bless  us, 
Father." 

"God  bless  you.     What  can  I  do  for  you?" 


ETERNITY  229 

*' Father,  we  have  come  to  be  made  brothers,  for 
you  to  read  us  the  service"  said  Branko. 

"I  will,  children,"  said  the  old  man:  "But  whose 
children  are  you ! ' '     They  told  him. 

' '  But  do  you  know  what  you  become  from  the  hour 
when  you  are  made  brothers?" 

"We  have  heard  something  about  it  from  our  elders, 
and  you  will  teach  us,"  said  Branko. 

* '  I  will,  my  son.  But  do  you  truly  love  each  other ! ' ' 
the  old  priest  asked,  and  looked  at  both. 

"Father,"  said  Iliya,  "if  we  were  brothers,  if  we 
had  laid  on  one  bosom,  we  could  love  each  other  no 
better.  In  the  mountains,  in  the  water,  in  the  grave 
itself,  one  will  follow  the  other." 

The  priest  looked  at  the  shining  face  of  Iliya,  he 
looked  at  the  abundant  zeal  in  the  eyes  of  Branko, 
and  he  said  : 

"Very  good,  my  children.  To-day,  after  the  Holy 
liturgy,  I  will  read  you  the  service,  and  make  you 
brothers. ' ' 

And  when  divine  service  was  finished,  the  priest 
led  them  to  the  altar,  and  completed  the  ceremony. 

"When  they  came  out  of  the  church,  they  felt  up- 
lifted in  spirit,  they  felt  a  sweet  communion  which 
was  like  a  holy  hand  joining  their  hearts.  With  eyes 
full  of  tears,  they  looked  at  each  other,  and  stretched 
out  their  hands  one  to  the  other. 

"Brother,  I  am  yours  to  the  grave,"  said  Brankc* 


230  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"Brother,  both  to  the  grave  and  in  the  grave  I  am 
yours,"  said  Iliya. 

The  priest  raised  his  old  hands  above  their  heads, 
and  the  people  wept  for  joy. 


II 


They  had  never  been  apart  before,  but  from  that  day 
they  were  united  in  everything.  They  shared  one 
dish,  slept  on  one  bed,  the  arm  of  one  was  a  pillow 
for  the  other.  But  that  was  not  enough  for  them! 
If  they  could,  they  would  have  worn  one  cap  and  one 
shirt ! 

One  day  Iliya  said  "Brother!  My  Father  says  that 
he  is  arranging  for  me  to  be  married." 

"And  so  is  mine,"  said  Branko. 

"You  will  be  my  best  man." 

* '  Of  course,  I  shall  be  very  happy  when  I  lead  your 
bride  by  the  hand.  Do  you  know  brother,  I  should 
not  forgive  you  if  you  gave  my  place  to  another. ' ' 

* '  I  should  never  do  that, ' '  said  Iliya. 

"If  I  were  to  die  and  you  did  not  invite  me  to  be 
best  man,  I  should  not  forgive  you, ' '  said  Branko. 

* '  God  be  with  you,  what  are  you  saying  ? ' ' 

Branko  smiled;  "I  say  it  would  be  hard  for  me 
to  bear,  even  if  I  were  dead!  But  come,  what  girl 
shall  we  have  for  you?" 

And  then  they  canvassed  far  and  wide  the  subject 


ETERNITY  231 

of  girls.  It  was  late  in  the  night  when  sleep  shut 
their  eyelids. 

Next  day,  Branko  went  up  with  the  cart  into  the 
forest  to  bring  wood.  Iliya  stayed  at  home  to  re-dig 
some  hedges  which  were  falling  over.  He  finished  his 
work;  the  sun  was  almost  at  noon,  and  he  called  to 
Branko 's  mother: — 

"Has  my  brother  come?" 

"Not  yet." 

"Why  is  he  so  long?" 

"I  don't  know,  dear." 

"Will  you  tell  me  when  he  comes?" 

"Yes,  my  lad." 

He  pottered  about  the  bee-hives,  and  then  went  into 
the  orchard.  The  day  passed.  The  sun  was  at  the 
horizon,  and  still  no  Branko. 

A  certain  uneasiness  came  over  both  houses.  A 
dark  presentiment  darted  like  a  snake  under  the  thres- 
hold of  the  house,  but  still  nobody  dared  to  say  a 
word. 

"He  must  have  overslept  himself"  said  Iliya 's 
father. 

They  seized  on  this  idea.  Indeed,  all  wished  to 
think  that  he  had  overslept  himself,  but  a  different 
thought  gripped  their  hearts.  Iliya  kept  walking 
about,  and  every  few  minutes  he  would  look  out  of  the 
window.     At  last  he  could  stand  it  no  longer. 


232  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"I  am  going  to  look  for  him,"  he  said  and  set  off 
for  the  gate. 

At  that  instant  the  cart  rattled  up  and  came  to  a 
standstill  at  the  gate. 

All  ran  up.  The  cart  was  empty ;  no  Branko.  In 
wonder  and  consternation  they  stood  and  gazed.  No 
one  could  speak  a  word.  Iliya  had  hardly  come  to 
himself,  when  he  rushed  down  the  street  as  though 
he  were  mad,  and  then  on  to  the  forest  to  look  for 
his  brother. 

He  staggered  on  for  a  long  distance.  Night  had 
fallen.  The  moon  was  looking  through  the  already 
faded  leaves,  which  mournfully  rustled  on  the  trees, 
when  he  found  his  brother. 

Horrible !  Branko  lay  with  his  head  bent  back,  al- 
most cut  through.  A  stream  of  coagulated  blood  lay 
around  him  like  a  marsh.  Near  him  lay  an  axe, 
all  bloody. 

Iliya  fell  upon  him.  He  kissed  him,  embraced  him, 
called : — in  vain.  His  voice  groaned  through  the  for- 
est with  a  dull  stifled  tone,  as  though  it  came  from 
below  the  ground. 

The  household  arrived.  The  funeral  dirges  rose, 
far  into  the  sky.  The  dead  body  was  lifted  on  to  a 
cart,  which  a  peasant  had  brought,  and  carried  home. 

They  mourned  him,  and  buried  him.  They  began 
to  investigate  the  crime.  Every  living  being  strove 
to  find  the  murderer,  but  in  vain.     Some  were  sus- 


ETERNITY  233 

pected  and  arrested,  but  nothing  was  proved.    No  liv- 
ing person  could  say  who  killed  Branko. 


Ill 

A  year  passed.  The  accused  lay  in  prison,  but  the 
matter  could  not  be  cleared  up. 

Branko 's  parents  mourned  him,  and  then  were  com- 
forted. The  wound  is  there  still  in  the  heart,  it  bums 
and  aches,  but  an  unhappy  man  must  reconcile  him- 
self to  life.  They  thought  they  would  not  be  able  to 
outlive  Branko,  but  yet  they  lived.  It  is  truly  said 
"it  is  not  sorrow  which  drives  out  the  soul,  but  the 
hour  of  fate." 

Meanwhile,  Iliya's  parents  were  already  planning 
for  their  son  in  other  ways.  The  mother  needed  a 
substitute  and  the  father  a  servant;  both  of  them 
needed  happiness.  Human  desire  is  an  insatiable 
griffin.  It  devours  all  that  there  is  in  the  world,  and 
is  stiU  unsatisfied.  It  was  not  enough  for  them  that 
their  son  was  alive,  they  desired  a  daughter-in-law 
also,  in  order  to  have  a  grandchild. 

They  began,  indirectly,  to  intimate  their  wishes  to 
Iliya.  When  they  mentioned  it  to  him,  he  shed  tears : 
**How  can  I  forget  my  brother!"  On  that  day  he 
neither  ate  nor  drank.  He  fled  from  every  living 
creature. 

But  continual  dropping  wears  away  the  stone.     Day 


234  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

by  day,  always  the  same  demand.  The  day  came 
when  he  was  able  to  obey  about  his  marriage.  And 
when  one  day  both  the  father  and  the  mother  of  his 
brother  told  him  that  it  was  better  that  he  should 
marry,  he  bowed  his  head  like  an  ox  under  the  yoke. 

They  found  him  a  maiden  fair  and  gentle  like  the 
flower  of  a  rose.  They  began  to  make  preparations, 
they  invited  the  guests.  His  senior  guest  was  Brau- 
ko's  father. 

His  father  called  Iliya  to  him  and  said  "Laddie, 
whom  will  you  have  for  best  man  ? ' ' 

"I  have  a  best  man,  Father,"  he  said. 

The  father  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Iliya  went  up 
to  the  churchyard.  In  the  east  rose  the  full  moon ; 
in  the  west  was  still  a  little  sunset.  Peace  reigned 
as  in  the  grave.  Fireflies  were  flitting  hither  and 
thither,  and  fell  on  the  withered  grass,  which  was 
already  covered  with  dew.  From  afar  came  the  cry 
of  the  owl.  Iliya 's  heart  beat  fast.  He  strode  up  to 
the  graves  and  plunged  on  from  one  to  another.  At 
last  he  stood  still.  He  had  come  to  the  grave  of  his 
brother. 

He  stood  over  the  grave.  He  crossed  himself  and 
kissed  the  cross,  then  he  bent  down  over  the  hummock 
and  called  out  ''Brother!" 

A  strongish  breeze  was  blowing,  and  ruffled  the 
hair  on  his  head.  A  light  shudder  passed  over  hira 
when  he  heard  a  voice  which  sounded  from  the  grave. 


ETERNITY  235 

"I  am  listening,  Brother." 

**I  am  going  to  marry." 

"Good  luck  to  you,"  answered  the  voice  from  the 
grave.     "I  am  keeping  my  word." 

"I  hoped  you  would." 

"I  am  the  best  man." 

"The  wedding  is  on  Sunday." 

"Good." 

"Shall  we  wait  for  you?" 

* '  No,  when  the  time  comes,  I  shall  be  there.  Thank 
you  for  having  remembered  me." 

The  voice  was  silent. 

"Brother!"    No  answer. 

"Brother!     Brother!" 

Silence  .  .  .  only  the  breeze  stirred  the  with- 
ered grass.  He  rose;  sweat  dropped  from  his  fore- 
head. 

The  moon  rose  higher  and  higher.  The  stars 
sparsely  scattered,  twinkled.  Some  went  quite  out 
and  then  shone  with  new  light;  some  dashed  across 
the  sky  like  lightning,  leaving  behind  them  a  shining 
track.     He  returned  home. 

A  slight  shudder  passed  over  his  body,  his  teeth 
chattered  and  his  head  was  confused  as  if  he  were 
drunk.  When  he  entered  the  house,  he  said  to  his 
father  who  was  sitting  by  the  fire:  "My  brother  will 
come." 

Sunday  dawned,  the  day  of  the  wedding.     The  in- 


236  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

vited  guests  collected.  Such  beauty,  glitter  and 
wealth!  You  could  not  take  your  eyes  off  it!  All 
were  on  their  feet  ready  for  the  ride,  but  awaited  the 
command  of  the  chief-guest.  Then  the  chief-guest 
called  out:  "Go!"  The  horsemen  mounted  their 
fiery  steeds,  the  others  took  their  seats  in  the  carriages 
and  made  a  bow  to  the  bride  in  the  name  of  God. 

A  splendid  show!  In  front  the  standard  bearer, 
the  standard  entirely  covering  him.  The  day  was 
fine,  the  sun  shone  brightly,  and  little  birds  were  twit- 
tering. In  the  air  were  floating  white  cobwebs,  soft 
as  down,  falling  on  the  clothes  of  the  guests.  Songs 
resounded,  salvo  after  salvo  thundered.  Suddenly, 
all  were  silent.  Just  at  the  crossway  which  cuts 
the  road  leading  out  of  the  village,  stood  a  horseman 
in  wedding  attire  looking  at  the  guests.  All  looked 
in  that  direction  and  recognized  Branko.  Just  as  he 
used  to  be  except  that  his  face  was  somewhat  paler 
and  less  open,  and  his  eyes  more  dim.  A  strange 
smile  was  playing  around  his  lips,  a  smile  which  at- 
tracted and  at  the  same  time  repelled.  As  Iliya 
looked  at  him  his  eyes  shone  with  joy;  he  struck  his 
horse  with  his  stirrup  and  hastened  to  his  friend. 

"Brother!" 

"Yes,  Brother." 

"Oh,  you  have  actually  come!" 

"Could  you  doubt  it?" 

"Thank  you,  Brother!" 


ETERNITY  237 

"Thank  you,  that  you  remembered  me." 

His  happy  parents  hastened  to  him.  ' '  Son ! ' '  called 
his  father :     *  *  Darling ! ' '  cried  his  mother. 

''It  is  I,  it  is  I,"  he  said,  and  smiled. 

**Let  your  mother  kiss  you,  my  son." 

"No,  Mother.  I  am  not  of  this  world.  Peace  is 
my  country.  Only  love  of  my  brother  could  bring 
me  back  out  of  my  kingdom.  That  alone  has  power 
to  bring  back  the  dead.  Do  not  come  near  me.  Mother, 
and  if  you  do  come  near,  you  must  not  kiss  me. ' ' 

Sorrow  fell  on  the  mother 's  heart,  she  wept  forlorn. 

"But  say  something  to  your  mother." 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,"  he  answered. 

"Who  killed  you,  my  dear?" 

He  only  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand. 

"I  have  come  to  my  brother's  wedding.  To-day  is 
the  time  for  rejoicing.  When  you  come  to  me,  I  will 
talk  to  you."     He  mingled  with  the  horsemen. 

The  guests  moved  on,  but  no  more  joyous  songs 
were  raised,  no  more  shots  re-echoed.  All  eyes  looked 
at  Branko,  and  he  smiled,  smiled  on  all  of  them.  He 
made  his  horse  prance,  and  then  rode  up  to  his  fath- 
er's carriage.     His  mother  asked: 

* '  When  shall  I  be  with  you,  my  son  ? ' ' 

"Soon:  you  will  both  be  soon  there.  If  you  only 
knew.  Mother,  how  beautiful  it  is  there ! ' '  Again  he 
smiled  as  the  guests  whispered  among  themselves: — 

"It  was  a  sin  for  Iliya  to  raise  him." 


238  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"But  they  were  pledged,  friend." 

They  went  on  across  the  village  and  up  to  the  house 
of  the  bride.  They  were  warmly  welcomed.  The 
guests  seated  themselves  at  the  laden  table. 

Branko  went  into  the  bride's  outbuilding,  and 
presented  her  with  the  best  man's  gifts;  then  he  re- 
turned to  the  table  and  sat  down  between  his  father 
and  mother. 

''Eat,  dear,  eat,"  said  his  mother,  and  helped  him 
to  food.  He  only  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  not  hungry, 
Mother." 

When  they  had  put  the  joint  on  the  table,  they  led 
forth  the  bride.  He  rose  and  received  her  from  her 
brother,  and  began  to  sei-ve  the  guests. 

The  guests  rose  from  the  table.  According  to  cus- 
tom, they  danced  a  kolo,  and  then  began  to  take  leave. 
The  bride  also  took  leave  of  her  relations  and  friends. 
Branko  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to  his  parents. 

* '  Father,  let  your  daughter  sit  with  you  in  the  car- 
riage." He  helped  the  danghter-in-law  to  step  in. 
He  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  up  to  the  carriage. 

"Farewell!" 

"Farewell!" 

They  moved  off,  when  they  reached  that  crossroad, 
he  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand,  and  the  guests 
stopped. 

' '  Farewell, ' '  he  said  to  his  parents.  ' '  Soon  we  shall 
see  each  other  again.     I  have  prepared  everything  for 


ETERNITY  239 

you  there.  Then  we  shall  never  part  again.  Do  not 
weep,  for  that  makes  it  harder  for  me  there.  If  you 
wish  to  lighten  my  spirit,  pray  to  God.  Shed  no 
tears.  Each  of  your  tears  is  a  red  hot  stone  falling 
upon  my  heart.     Farewell." 

Then  he  turned  to  Iliya.     "Farewell,  Brother." 

''Must  you  go.  Brother?" 

"I  go,  but  remember  me,  dear  Brother,  and  come 
to  me." 

"I  will  come.  Brother,"  said  Iliya. 

Branko  separated  himself  from  the  guest,  and  stood 
at  the  side  of  the  road;  there  he  stood  until  all  had 
gone  past  him.  At  the  turning  his  mother  looked  back 
to  see  him  once  more,  but  he  had  vanished. 


IV 

A  week  went  by.  Iliya  had  almost  forgotten  his 
promise.  One  evening,  just  as  he  was  closing  his  eyes, 
his  brother  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream,  and  began 
to  reproach  him.  He  started  up,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and 
said  to  his  wife.     "Give  me  my  boots." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked  him. 

"Just  give  me  ray  boots,  and  don't  ask  questions," 
he  said  sharply. 

The  wife  rose  and  brought  him  the  boots.  He  put 
them  on  quickly,  took  his  coat  and  went  out. 


240  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

The  night  was  clear.  It  was  as  quiet  as  in  the 
grave ;  only  the  leaves  rustled  lightly,  rustled  as  softly 
•as  if  a  dying  man  was  whispering.  A  heavy  dew  wet 
his  feet ;  he  almost  shivered  from  the  f reslmess  of  the 
night.  He  advanced  with  rapid  strides.  Something 
hea\y  lay  upon  his  heart.  He  felt  that  never  again 
would  he  see  his  home,  his  wife,  his  father,  or  his 
mother.  Unwillingly  he  bade  farewell  to  each  dear 
place. 

' '  Farewell,  old  oak !  Never  more  shall  I  rest  under 
your  thick  shade.  Farewell ! "  he  whispered.  A  feel- 
ing of  sadness  softened  him  to  tears,  but  he  never 
thought  of  going  back.  He  reached  the  graveyard. 
He  made  his  way  straight  to  the  grave  of  his  brother. 
As  before,  he  took  off  his  cap,  kissed  the  cross,  and 
called  out: — 

"Brother!" 

"Yes,  Brother!"  answered  his  brother  from  the 
grave. 

' '  I  have  come  to  see  how  you  are. ' ' 

"Then  come,  Brother." 

"How  shall  I  come?" 

"This  way." 

He  looked.  On  the  right  side  of  the  hummock 
yawned  an  opening.  Something  froze  within  him. 
All  at  once  he  wished  to  fly,  but  his  feet  gave  way 
under  him,  so  that  he  could  not  move  from  the  spot. 
He  felt  his  body  grow  as  cold  as  if  he  had  not  a  drop 


ETERNITY  241 

of  blood.  One  thought  after  another,  like  glowing 
needles,  passed  across  his  brain  and  vanished  as  if 
carried  by  a  whirlwind.  Father,  mother,  wife,  the 
old  oak,  all  in  an  instant  appeared  before  his  eyes 
and  vanished. 

"Brother!" 

He  opened  his  mouth  to  answer,  but  the  words  died 
on  his  lips. 

''Come!" 

As  though  some  force  beyond  his  own  will  was  mov- 
ing him,  he  went  forward,  he  put  down  first  his  right, 
then  his  left  foot  into  the  opening,  and  b}'  a  staircase 
began  to  descend  into  the  grave.  He  shut  his  eyes 
so  that  he  should  not  see ;  but  when  he  felt  hard  ground 
under  his  feet,  he  involuntarily  opened  his  eyes.  0 
how  wonderful  was  the  sweetness  and  beauty,  dear 
God  I  How  bright  was  the  daylight !  He  found  him- 
self in  a  corridor  which  shone  with  so  much  light  that 
it  dazzled  him.  Such  beauty  he  had  never  imagined 
even  in  dreams.  At  times,  when  he  was  still  a  child, 
after  listening  to  old  fairj'-tales,  the  teeming  imagin- 
ation of  childhood  had  pictured  for  him  a  beauty  like 
this.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  looked  again.  He 
could  not  see  from  whence  that  beautiful  light  came, 
but  it  seemed  to  him  that  precious  stones  were  shining 
there  such  as  are  sung  of  in  songs.  "Wondering  and 
amazed,  he  did  not  know  what  to  do,  but  his  feet  bore 
him  along,  upright.       He  did  not  walk  but  fly:  it 


242  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

seemed  to  him  that  he  had  wings  and  was  flying  along 
the  corridor. 

All  at  once  he  found  himself  in  a  meadow.  Such 
a  sweet,  such  a  beautiful.meadow !  He  could  not  have 
imagined  a  meadow  so  lovely!  The  tenderest  green, 
the  most  beautiful  softness!  On  the  velvet  grass 
young  lambs  were  playing ;  gaily  coloured  birds  were 
singing  on  the  green  branches;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  understood  their  songs  as  if  his  own  soul  were  sing- 
ing them.  A  little  river  was  winding  among  green 
trees.  Light  ripples  were  passing  over  the  bright  col- 
oured stones,  and  running  races  with  golden  scaled 
fishes.  He  was  bathed  in  something  sweet  and  warm 
and  enrapturing.  He  felt  neither  cold  nor  heat.  His 
heart  swelled  and  sweetness  pervaded  his  blood.  He 
felt  that  he  no  longer  belonged  to  this  earth;  it  was 
the  same  heavenly  blessedness  which  God  grants  that 
the  child  shall  feel  in  the  arms  of  its  mother,  and  the 
youth  in  the  embrace  of  his  beloved. 

A  little  lamb  came  up  to  him  and  began  to  lick  his 
hand.  He  snatched  back  his  hand,  and  the  lamb  said 
to  him,  ' '  Just  let  me  lick  away  my  blood,  which  is  on 
your  hand." 

He  started  when  the  lamb  spoke  to  him,  and  a  shud- 
der passed  over  him. 

"How  can  it  be  your  blood?"  he  asked  in  horror, 
and  looked  at  his  hand.  The  hand  was  indeed  cov- 
ered with  blood. 


ETERNITY  243 

**Poor  man,  it  was  because  you  slaughtered  me," 
said  the  lamb  meekly.  It  began  to  lick  again.  He  was 
frightened.  Another  lamb  came  up  to  him,  and  it 
also  began  to  lick  him.  One  by  one  came  the  whole 
flock.  He  looked  at  his  hands  steeped  in  blood.  Little 
birds  began  to  fly  down  from  the  trees  and  perch  on 
his  shoulders. 

' '  You  killed  us  too.  You  took  us  little  ones  out  of 
the  nest,"  they  said.  "Our  mothers  twittered  sadly 
after  you,  but  you  ate  us  up  all  the  same, ' ' 

"And  3^ou  pushed  me  on  to  the  ground,  where  a 
snake  seized  me  and  devoured  me, ' '  said  a  little  callow 
starling. 

His  hair  stood  up  on  end ;  sweat  dropped  from  everj'- 
hair  of  his  head ;  his  knees  shook  under  him,  he  reeled 
and  swooned,  struck  to  the  ground  by  fear. 


He  began  to  come  to  himself;  he  looked  up  and  saw 
his  brother. 

"Brother,  for  God's  sake,  why  did  you  call  me?" 
"Do  not  be  frightened,  Brother,  See,  your  hands 
are  clean.  These  honest  little  creatures  have  washed 
off  their  blood  from  them.  You  sinful  people  there  on 
the  earth  think  that  God  has  not  given  life  to  anyone 
but  you,  and  so  you  take  life  carelessely.  But  now 
look !    You  see  they  also  have  souls.     They  have  their 


244  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

mothers,  their  fathers,  their  brothers  and  sisters.  Their 
hearts  ache  in  the  same  way  for  their  own,  just  as 
yours  do  for  yours.  But  enough  of  that,  the  blood  is 
washed  out,  you  are  forgiven.     Come  with  me." 

*'But  where,  Brother?" 

"To  where  I  live.  Into  my  palace.  Look!  You 
never  have  seen  such  palaces  before ! 

He  looked.  A  magnificent  palace  glittered  in  front 
of  him.  The  walls  were  of  precious  stones,  and 
around  the  palace  was  a  splendid  garden.  Broad 
leaves  made  a  heavenly  shade,  and  rich  fruits  scat- 
tered their  perfumes  on  all  sides.  The  perfume  re- 
freshed him  as  though  he  had  washed  his  face.  He 
followed  his  brother  light-hearted  and  serene  of  soul 
like  a  child.  The  paths  on  either  side  were  planted 
with  flowers,  he  breathed  in  their  perfume  and  felt 
his  chest  expand. 

"Brother,  it  is  beautiful  here"  he  said,  enraptured 
with  bliss. 

**It  is,  indeed,  Brother." 

**We  have  no  existence  like  this  over  there." 

"You  cannot  even  dream  of  it." 

"You  are  blessed.  Brother." 

His  brother  smiled  and  taking  his  hand,  led  him 
into  the  palace.  As  they  went  along  those  shining 
corridors,  a  thought  began  to  trouble  Iliya.  There 
was  something  he  wished  to  ask  his  brother,  but  he 
had  forgotten  what  it  was.     His  brother  led  him  into 


ETERNITY  215 

a  large  hall  beautifully  decorated.  The  vaulting  was 
painted  in  wonderful  tints.  Gay  butterflies  of  many 
colours  flitted  hither  and  thither.  In  one  corner  was 
lighted  a  hanging  lamp  and  the  flame  of  the  little  wick 
was  reflected  from  the  shining  walls  and  made  a  rain- 
bow in  the  room. 

* '  Sit  down,  Brother. ' '    He  sat  down. 

''How  are  you,  Brother,  and  how  is  my  sister-in- 
law?     Is  she  dutiful  to  our  old  parents?" 

"All  is  well.  Brother,  all  is  peaceful  and  orderly." 
\nd  again  he  was  troubled  by  what  he  had  forgotten. 

''And  my  father  and  mother?" 

"They  also  are  well." 

"And  the  old  priest?" 

' '  He  also  is  well,  though  he  is  almost  trembling  with 
«ge." 

"He  is  a  saintly  soul!  Do  you  remember,  Brother, 
how  earnestly  he  prayed  when  he  made  us  brothers! 
That  is  the  way  he  prays.  Brother." 

'  Branko  asked  about  everything,  he  wished  to  know 
about  every  trifle  from  beginning  to  end.  Iliya 
talked  and  talked ;  and  the  longer  he  talked  the  more 
he  wished  to  talk. 

"Listen,  Brother!  It  is  time  that  we  should  part. 
You  have  seen  here  what  no  living  person  has  ever 
seen.  At  all  times  wherever  you  go,  sitting  or  stand- 
ing, keep  telling  our  sinful  brotliers  what  you  have 
seen.     Tell  them  how  beautiful  it  is  here.     Tell  them 


246  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

to  keep  their  souls  from  sin,  not  to  take  the  life  of 
others,  to  be  loving  and  affectionate  to  one  another. 
Love  alone  is  needful  for  all.  Love  is  on  a  level  with 
the  Lord  and  with  his  Son.  It  is  broader  than  the 
heavenly  vault,  deeper  than  the  abyss,  stronger  than 
the  most  powerful  force.  It  is  the  greatest  power  in 
the  world.  It  binds  the  child  to  the  mother,  it  binds 
leaf  to  leaf,  blade  to  blade,  man  to  man.  Its  power 
is  a  divine  power,  it  is  the  child  of  God.  Remember, 
Brother!" 

At  this  moment  Iliya  remembered  what  he  had  for- 
gotten and  he  cried  out: — "Brother,  tell  me  who 
killed  you?" 

As  he  spoke,  Branko's  face  darkened.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  vault  appeared  a  drop  of  red  blood  shining 
like  a  ruby.  It  slowly  glided  down  the  vault  and 
dropped  on  the  wick  of  the  lamp.  The  wick  hissed 
mournfully,  as  if  lamenting,  and  went  out.  A  thick 
darkness  fell,  and  across  it,  as  though  out  of  some 
abyss,  the  voice  of  Branko  sounded  like  distant  thun- 
der:— 

"Why  do  you  shed  innocent  blood?  Why  do  you 
shed  it,  you  who  know  God?  Alas  for  me!  Fly 
Brother!" 

A  terrible  storm  began  to  blow.  Iliya  heard  the 
palace  of  his  brother  crumbling;  he  stood  waiting  in 
terror  for  his  hour  of  doom  when  something  took  hold 
of  him  and  bore  him  away.     He  closed  his  eyea, 


ETERNITY  247 

VI 

He  lay  in  a  forest  iirider  an  old  elm.  A  wind  was 
playing  over  his  ruffled  hair ;  bees  were  buzzing  round 
him,  the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  withered  leaves 
were  whispering  sadly,  as  though  they  mourned  the 
days  of  their  freshness  and  greenness.  Everything 
seen  and  felt  made  it  clear  that  it  was  towards  the  end 
of  early  autumn. 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  about.  The  first 
thing  he  saw  was  a  crab-apple  near  him,  already  over- 
ripe and  fallen.  He  looked  further.  Forest,  and 
again  forest.     *  *  Where  am  I  ? "  he  thought. 

He  strained  his  mind  to  remember,  and  he  remem- 
bered everj^thing. 

"Where  have  I  been  cast  away?'*  He  began  to 
wander  about  the  forest.  There  was  no  living  being 
anywhere,  except  little  birds  twittering  or  bees  hum- 
ming, none  else  anywhere.  He  found  a  path  and  fol- 
lowed it.  He  walked  and  walked  and  then  stood  still ; 
the  path  had  come  to  an  end.  He  looked  in  another 
direction,  there  was  a  path  again.  He  went  along  it 
but  it  also  vanished.  So  the  day  passed.  Tired  to 
death  he  threw  himself  on  the  ground.  His  veins 
were  swollen  with  weariness,  his  mouth  was  parched 
with  thirst.  Oh,  to  go  and  get  water !  But  he  could 
walk  no  more.  Both  his  legs  were  numb.  He  ex- 
tended  himself   along   the    ground.      He    felt   how 


248  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

quickly  his  pulse  was  beating.  His  mind  was  con- 
fused. He  thought  vaguely  about  the  forest,  about 
water,  about  his  village  and  home,  about  his  brother, 
about  recent  events,  about  everything,  and  about 
everything  at  the  same  time.  From  the  confusion 
of  these  thoughts  his  head  drooped.  Sleep  imposed 
itself  on  the  weary  body,  but  he  felt  thirst  torturing 
him. 

' '  Hello,  why  are  you  lying  there ! ' '  cried  a  middle- 
aged  man  to  him.  He  heard  a  voice  and  looked  at  the 
man,  but  could  not  understand  a  word.  The  man 
raised  him,  and  he  stood  up.  He  showed  by  a  gesture 
that  he  wanted  a  drink.  The  man  left  him  for  a 
little  and  then  brought  Mm  some  water.  He  drank 
it  up. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  asked  the  man. 

Iliya  looked  at  him. 

"Where  do  you  come  from  I  say,  from  what  vil- 
lage?" 

"From  Ognyanovitch. " 

"And  where  is  that?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"There  is  no  such  village,"  said  the  man. 

"Yes,  there  is,"  said  he. 

"Well  there  may  be,  but  not  hereabouts.  One  can 
see  that  you  have  a  queer  way  of  speaking,  you  must 
be  from  a  long  way  off.     But  how  did  you  get  here  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  know." 


ETERNITY  249 

"Are  you  himgry?" 

"Yes." 

"Come  along  then." 

The  man  went  on  in  front  and  Iliya  after  him.  The 
man  led  him  to  a  cabin,  put  out  a  chair  for  him,  and 
said,  "Sit  down.  I  am  alone  here.  You  know  it 
is  the  fall  of  the  acorns,  and  I  have  driven  my  pigs 
into  the  forest,  but  you  will  be  content  with  what  God 
sends  you. ' ' 

He  took  out  a  little  maize-cake,  cheese  and  bacon. 
Iliya  being  so  hungry,  fell  upon  the  food.  The  man 
looked  at  him  with  some  satisfaction. 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Iliya." 

"It  is  mine  also.     What  is  your  surname?" 

"Pakalyevitch." 

"A  strange  surname.  But  tell  me,  do,  how  you 
came  here. ' ' 

"I  do  not  know." 

"He  is  dying  of  hunger"  said  the  host  to  himself. 

After  supper  he  asked  for  water  again.  The  man 
brought  him  some  cold  watex  from  the  spring. 

"Listen,  Friend!  Lie  down  a  little  and  rest  your- 
self. I  .shall,  in  any  case,  be  looking  after  the  pigs 
to-night." 

Iliya  lay  down.  At  first  he  slept,  then  he  suddenly 
started  out  of  a  dream.  It  seemed  to  him  that  some- 
one had  hold  of  his  throat  by  both  hands.    He  opened 


250  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

his  eyes  and  looked  round  the  cabin.  There  was  no- 
one  anywhere. 

His  sleep  was  spoilt.  He  poked  the  embers  and 
sat  down  by  the  fire.  His  thoughts  wandered  in  all 
directions,  ' '  Who  is  this  man  ?  What  sort  of  strange 
speech  has  he  ?  I  can  hardly  understand  him.  How 
did  I  come  here  ?  Where  is  my  own  village,  and  what 
are  my  own  people  doing  now  at  home  ? ' ' 

Just  as  he  was  sunk  in  all  these  thoughts,  the  host 
came  in. 

"What,  you  are  not  sleeping?" 

"No." 

"Why  could  you  not  sleep?" 

"I  cannot." 

The  man  put  a  few  twigs  on  the  fire,  took  a  stool  and 
sat  down.  He  twisted  himself  about  a  little  and  drew 
out  of  his  belt  a  pouch  of  tobacco  and  a  knife,  cut 
into  the  tobacco,  rubbed  it,  filled  his  pipe  and  lit  it. 

Ilij^a  looked  at  him  with  wide-open  eyes.  Seeing 
the  smoke  curling  out  of  his  host's  mouth  he  could 
not  refrain  from  asking: — 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

' '  Smoking. ' ' 

"Smoking?" 

"Yes,  smoking." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Tobacco." 

"What  do  you  say?" 


ETERNITY  251 

''Tobacco.    Surely  you  know  what  tobacco  is!" 

"  I  do  not  know, ' '  said  Iliya. 

The  host  began  to  explain  as  well  as  he  could  what 
tobacco  is.  "I  could  do  without  bread  but  I  cannot 
do  without  tobacco.  It  is  a  friend,  a  true  friend." 
Iliya  wondered. 

"Here,  look  at  it."  He  held  out  a  pipe  to  him. 
Iliya  drew  one  whiff,  spluttered  and  coughed.  His 
tears  flowed.  "That  is  nothing,  I  spluttered  too  the 
first  time, ' '  said  the  host,  ' '  have  a  smoke. ' ' 

Iliya  made  a  gesture  of  refusal. 

VII 

As  the  days  passed  everything  became  more  puzzling 
to  Iliya.  His  namesake  brought  him  into  the  village. 
He  saw  the  houses  there,  large  and  well-planned  and 
white-washed.  He  did  not  remember  having  seen 
anything  like  them.  He  saw  the  way  the  people 
ploughed  and  harrowed  and  dug;  he  was  amazed  when 
he  saw  a  windmill ;  for  all  these  things  were  to  him 
divine  miracles.  He  kept  stopping  in  front  of  each 
little  thing  petrified,  and  the  people  marvelled  at  him. 

"Good  Lord,  what  a  man  you  are,  you  don't  know 
anything!" 

He  only  shrugged  his  shoulders.  They  gathered 
round  him  as  though  he  were  a  wonder.  They  laughed 
at  his  speech. 


252  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

"It  is  like  what  the  priest  reads  in  church,"  said 
the  peasants.  And  in  truth  his  speech  was  similar  to 
that  in  which  divine  service  was  read  to  them.  So 
the  people  of  this  unfamiliar  world  began  to  jeer 
at  him,  and  he  almost  hated  them.  This  world  was 
strange  to  him.  There  was  nothing  in  it  to  make  him 
want  to  stay.  So  one  day  he  rose  and  went  out  of  the 
village.  He  went  from  village  to  village  seeking  his 
own  village.  Whenever  he  told  anyone  the  name  of 
his  village  he  received  one  and  the  same  reply :  ' '  There 
is  no  such  place." 

He  steeled  himself  to  endure,  he  resolved  to  find 
his  village  or  die.  This  world,  these  strange  people, 
who  ploughed  with  such  wonderful  ploughs,  and  then 
crumbled  the  rest  of  the  earth  with  wooden  claws, 
these  people  had  nothing  in  common  with  him ! 

''I  have  strayed  into  a  different  race,"  he  thought. 
"Here  the  speech  is  different  and  the  jokes  and  games 
are  different  from  those  in  my  Ognyanovitch !  0  dear, 
what  a  full  and  happy  life  we  lived  there !  There,  in 
the  thick  shade  of  the  walnut  trees,  we  used  to  lie  and 
rest  with  jests  and  happy  laughter.  What  are  my 
own  people  doing  now  at  home  ?  Father  and  mother 
must  have  nearly  driven  themselves  distracted  looking 
for  me.  If  I  could  only  find  them,  if  I  could  only 
see  them!  If  I  could  only  find  my  own  village.  Oh 
what  a  relief  it  would  be!" 


ETERNITY  253 

Thinking  thus,  one  day  he  fell  asleep  in  the  shade 
of  a  beech  tree.    And  he  dreamed  a  dream : — 

He  came  to  his  own  village,  and  everywhere  he  saw 
the  same  wonderful  cottages  as  here;  and  the  people 
there  spoke  the  same  way.  He  said  a  sentence,  and 
they  laughed  and  jeered  at  him.  And  he  was  weary 
at  heart.  He  sought  his  father  and  mother,  but  they 
were  not  there.  He  sought  his  wife,  but  she  was  not 
there.  He  sought  his  friends,  but  they  were  not  there. 
''Those  are  people  of  old,"  they  said  to  him.  "They 
are  here  no  more.     How  is  it  that  you  know  them?" 

A  great  oppression  came  over  him,  and  he  wished 
to  kill  himself.  Just  as  he  was  going  to  jump  into  a 
pond,  there  came  up  out  of  the  pond  first  a  head  and 
then  the  figure  of  a  man.    He  recognised  his  brother. 

"Brother,  for  God's  sake,  where  are  you?  Since 
we  parted,  a  hundred  wonders  have  fallen  upon  me! 
I  cannot  be  myself  again  after  all  I  have  seen  and 
heard.  Tell  me,  Brother,  for  God 's  sake,  where  are  my 
people  ?  Where  are  my  mother  and  my  father  and  my 
wife  ?    I  am  dying  to  see  them. ' ' 

His  brother  only  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand.  * '  It 
is  in  vain,  Brother ;  in  vain  you  ask  me,  for  I  cannot 
tell  you.  But  I  can  say  who  will  tell  you.  Go  from 
village  to  village,  from  town  to  town,  'and  where  you 
find  Mirko  Selakovitch,  he  will  tell  you.  But  Brother, 
what  you  were  going  to  do  is  not  brave,  I  thought  you 
had  a  better  heart.    And  besides,  it  is  a  sin,  a  deadly 


254  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

sin,  a  deadly  sin !  If  you  do  that,  you  will  never  see 
us  again,  neither  me  nor  your  family !  You  are  a  man, 
and  must  endure  what  fate  ordains  for  you ! ' ' 

Then  his  brother  came  up  to  him  and  touched  his 
hand,  and  the  hand  was  cold  as  a  snake.    He  shivered. 

The  sun  had  set.  The  moon  was  two  spears' 
length  up.  He  crossed  himself  and  began  to  seek  for 
Mirko  Selakovitch. 

VIII 

It  was  a  summer  day ;  the  leaves  were  drooping  with 
the  heat.  The  day-star  was  burning  hot ;  no  bird  made 
a  sound,  so  oppressed  were  they.  The  village  herd  had 
collected  round  a  well  on  the  common. 

Not  a  drop  of  water  in  the  troughs!  A  traveler, 
thirsty  and  tired,  came  up  to  the  well,  and  when  he  saw 
the  cattle  gathered  together,  he  was  sorry  for  them, 
and  began  to  pour  water  into  the  trough.  When  the 
cattle  were  watered,  he  washed  his  face,  and  drank 
his  fill.  Then  he  stretched  himself  on  the  green  grass 
near  the  well  and  slept  like  the  dead.  And  we  would 
have  slept  until  Grod  knows  when,  if  a  young  girl  had 
not  come  to  the  well  and  waked  him  with  the  creaking 
of  the  pole.    He  opened  his  eyes. 

* '  Forgive  me, ' '  said  the  girl.  '  *  I  have  wakened  you. 
It  is  bad  luck  sleeping  when  the  sun  goes  down." 

'Where  are  you  from,  my  girl?" 


ETERNITY  255 

"I  am  from  this  village." 

"And  wbat  is  the  name  of  the  village?" 

''You  must  be  from  a  long  way  off,  not  to  know 
what  our  village  is  called ! ' ' 

''It  is  true  I  come  from  far  away." 

"It  is  called  Selishty," 

"Selishty?" 

"Yes.     The  village  has  been  re-settled  here." 

"Where  from?" 

"I  don't  know.  Grandfather  knows  that,  he  can 
tell  all  about  it. ' ' 

"Who  is  grandfather?" 

"Why,  don't  you  know  our  grandfather?  He  is 
the  oldest  man  about  here." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"Mirko." 

"Mirko?"  cried  Iliya,  and  sprang  up  as  if  he  had 
burnt  himself. 

"Yes,  Mirko  Selakovitch.  He  is  the  oldest  man 
here.    He  is  more  than  a  hundred  years  old." 

Iliya  seized  the  girl  by  the  hand,  his  eyes  lit  up 
with  longing. 

"Sister,  for  God's  sake,  take  me  to  your  grand- 
father. Now,  now,  this  very  instant!  I  have  been 
over  all  the  world  looking  for  him.  Show  me  the 
way!" 

The  girl  lifted  her  pails  of  water  on  to  the  yoke, 
and  he  went  with  her.    The  sun  had  just  set  and  spread 


256  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

out  its  last  rays  like  gold.    His  heart  beat  as  though 
it  would  jump  out. 

IX 

At  dusk  he  entered  the  house.  A  fire  was  merrily 
crackling  on  the  hearth  and  its  flames  lit  the  whole 
room.     The  household  was  already  coUeoted. 

''Good  evening." 

"God  bless  you." 

"Health  and  peace  to  you." 

"Thanks  be  to  God.  Sit  down."  A  middle-aged 
man  invited  him  in. 

"This  man  has  come  to  see  grandfather,"  said  the 
girl. 

' '  Wait  a  little,  friend,  if  you  are  not  in  a  hurry, ' ' 
said  the  man. 

"Yes,  I  will  wait." 

The  women  brought  in  the  tray  of  food.  The  man 
turned  to  them  and  asked,  "Is  it  ready ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  they. 

"Wait  a  little,  friend,  I  am  going  now."  He  rose 
and  went  into  an  inner  room.  Soon  he  returned 
leading  an  old  man,  whose  hair  was  white  as  a  fleece 
and  whose  old  legs  trembled  with  the  weight  of  years. 
All  had  risen  to  their  feet,  and  Iliya  rose  too.  They 
led  the  grandfather  to  the  table  and  sat  him  down. 
Then  all  the  people  in  the  house,  one  by  one,  went 


ETERNITY  257 

up  to  him  and  took  his  hand.  When  they  had  all 
kissed  they  sat  down  at  the  table. 

''Grandfather,  a  traveller  is  asking  for  you,"  said 
the  middle-aged  man. 

"Why  did  you  not  ask  him  to  supper?"  asked  the 
grandfather  reprovingly, 

"He  is  here,  at  the  table." 

The  grandfather  raised  his  grey  eyebrows  and 
looked  with  his  dim  eyes  at  Iliya,  who  rose. 

"After  supper,  my  son;  after  supper,"  said  the 
grandfather. 

When  they  had  finished  supper  the  old  man  turned 
to  him:     "Where  are  you  from,  my  son?" 

"From  Ognyanovitch ! " 

"What  do  you  say?    What?" 

"From  Ognyanovitch." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  incredulously.  *  *  There 
is  no  such  village.  There  is  not  now,  though  there 
was  once.    You  cannot  be  from  that  village. ' ' 

"But  I  am;  I  really  am  from  Ognyanovitch." 

Again  the  old  man  looked  at  him  incredulously. 
"That  village  has  long  since  disappeared.  Even  I 
do  not  remember  it,  but  the  old  people  told  me  about 
it  who  had  settled  here  from  there." 

"But  I  am  from  that  village !"  cried  Iliya  almost  in 
despair. 

"IIow  can  you  bo?  A  hundred  years  have  pa.ssed 
over  my  head.     My  great-grandmother  used  to  tell 


258  JUGO-SLAV  STORIES 

me  how  her  husband's  great-grandfather  was  a  hand- 
some youth,  who  one  night  suddenly  disappeared.  He 
loved,  she  said,  one  of  his  comrades,  and  was  made  his 
brother  in  the  church.  One  day,  this  brother  went 
into  the  forest  for  wood,  and  was  murdered.  And 
when  the  other  one  married,  he  actually  invited  his 
dead  brother  to  be  his  best  man.  No  one  reproached 
him  for  wanting  to  raise  a  dead  man  from  the  grave, 
but  when  the  day  of  the  wedding  came  the  dead  man 
actually  came  and  was  best  man.  A  week  later  the 
other  went  to  look  for  his  brother,  and  never  came 
back  again." 

"And  what  became  of  his  family?"  asked  Iliya, 
trembling  all  over. 

"What  should  happen?  They  died.  I  am  the 
seventh  generation  from  him  who  disappeared.  How 
can  you  know  about  that  village!  Do  not  talk  non- 
sense. ' ' 

The  house  whirled  round  Iliya 's  head.  He  seized 
his  head  with  both  his  hands  and  fled. 

Soft  is  the  touch  of  the  old  fairy-tale !  Tender  are 
the  memories  of  childhood  when  we  were  rocked  to 
sleep  with  those  sweet  old  stories ! 


The  End 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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